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Full text of "The partisan leader : a novel, and an apocalypse of the origin and struggles of the Southern Confederacy"

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Entered, according to act of Congress, in the yeai' 1862, by 


In the District Court of the Confederate States for the 

Eastern District of Virginia. 



It is said of Mr. Burke that he could take a survey of the political 
sky and tell the destiny of nations for twenty years to come. Judge 
Tucker has literally done this, as far as the American people are con- 
cerned, as will be found strikingly illustrated in the work before us. 
Written and published in 1836, but bearing in its imprint the date of 
1856, -and intended as a tale of the future, applying to the intervening 
period, it has substantially foretold the great leading features of the 
history of the twenty-five years intervening between the time of its first 
publication, and this eventful era, at which it is again given to the public. 

In following the history of the hero through the strange vicissitudes 
of love, and war, and wild adventure — glowing now with the roseate 
tinge of sentiment, and, anon, with the fiery hue of tragedy, the reader 
will be amazed to see the incidental mention of the great historical facts 
which have, in the last eighteen months, marked the disintegration of 
a vast republic, and the organization and struggles of a new one. The 
secession of the more Southern States — the formation of the "South- 
ern Confederacy" — the hesitation of Virginia — the arguments which 
fifteen months ago resounded, from the Chesapeake to the Ohio in fa- 
vour of her seceding and "accepting the invitation to join the South- 
ern Confederacy" — the "pretext" on which the Northern army was 
raised; "the apprehension of hostilities from the Southern Confedera- 
cy" — the war — the effects of the bloqkade, even to its influence upon 
the article of common salt, etc., etc., seem as familiar to the pen of the 
great- political seer, as if he had actually been a participant l ( in the 
great struggle" which he writes, " I witnessed and partook." 

The reader will realize, perhaps, more amusement, though less of 
wonder, to see as thorough appreciation of Yankee character, as well in 
small things and in great, as the lights and shadows of twenty-five ad- 
ditional years of, peace and war afford. "He surely had read some of 
McClellan's reports," was the playful remark of an intelligent friend, 
as we read the account of Col. Trevor's defeat, and his official report, 
which "lies like* truth, and yet most truly lies." 

Indeed, so (-marvellously does the book apply to recent and current 
events, that sometimes sketching its striking passages, with those who 
were not readers contemporaneous with its first circulation, thev have 


taken the venerable copy and turned it over and said, so skeptically, 
this indeed looks like an old book, as that, by an unpleasant association 
of ideas, I have almost fancied myself suspected as a sort of Thomas 
Chatterton, with his affected old Saxon style, and black-lettered, artifc- 
cially-blurred volumes, attempting to impose on the literary wor . 
Many, however, will bail it as an old friend, whose eccentricities once 
served to amuse their idle hours; but .treated at best with neglect, had 
withdrawn, and so secluded himself; that when by experience, they dis- 
cover that "his folly was wiser than their wisdom," comes not promptly, 
When in their perplexity they call, for him,, but waits for the darkest 
hour * and then in the benign and venerable aspect of a prophet ot 
God, comes to remind "of how these things must needs be," and m 
his very salutation speaking words of cheer, and heralding a. bright 

and glorious day. . 

It was for a number of years unknown who "Edward William kid- 
ney" was. Indeed, that the public has remained in doubt to a very re- 
cent period, if not to this hour, will appear from the following quota- 
tion from the Southern Literary Messenger of June 1861. The edi- 
tor, introducing a notice of the "Partisan Leader," as recently re-pub- 
lished in the North, taken from the Baltimore Exchange, says: "We 
see that some. of our exchanges have given credit, to the novel in ques- 
tion to the pen of Judge Upshur, of Virginia, who was killed by the 
bursting of the 'Peacemaker;' but we lelieve the Baltimore Exchange. 
is correct in attributing it, to Judge Beverley Tucker of Virginia." It 
will be, therefore, gratifying to see this question set fully at rest, as it 
is most satisfactorily done, in the following communication kindly fur- 
nished me by, Lieut. Governor Montague, of Virginia: 

Richmond, July 6th, 1S62. 
Dear Sir — I have received yours of the 30th nit., asking me to .give you 
any information I possess as to the authorship of.a book called "The Partisan 
Leader." The late Judge Beverley Tucker, of Williamsburg, was the author 
of the work; and the first time I ever heard him declare he wrote the book 
was under the following circumstances: In 1842 or 43, I do not now remem- 
ber the precise period, the Hon. J. M. Botts accused the late Judge A. P. Up- 
shur, in a printed communication, of being a disunionist, and among other 
items of evidence brought forward by Mr. Botts to sustain this charge, as well 
as I now recollect, it was insinuated that Judge Upshuy was the author of 
" The Partisan Leader.'' This controversy excited "a good deal of interest in 
Williamsburg, where Judge Upshur had many warm friends and admirers. 1 
was at that time a student of William and Mary College, and a member of 
Judge Tucker's class, and on this occasion I heard him declare to his class 
that he wrote the book and was responsible for whatever sins or heresies it 
contained. This was the first time I ever heard him refer to the subject. Af- 
ter this I heard him refer to it frequently in private. I have often heard him 

* Wrilten during the blond v week at Richmond. 


say that those who were then deriding him, and denouncing his book as a 
treasonable production 'would live to see the day when they would acknow- 
ledge that his appreciation of the Yankee character was correct; and lament 
in tears and blood that his views were not sooner adopted by the South. It 
■was written by its great author to open the eyes of Virginia and the South to 
the. dangers which he so clearly saw just ahead, and which we all have so 
keenly felt. " Well, well, would it have been could all have seen as he did. 

I am glad to hear you design its re-publication. It is a master's work, and 
I have no doubt, but that, even now, its re-publication will be productive pf 
good. Wishing you success in your enterprise, 
1 I am hastily, but very truly yours, 


Sir Walter Scott was observed by a friend to be noting the kind of 
grass, flowers, and moss which grew about a great rock, and a cave, 
where he proposed to lay the scene of one of his. novels. 

"Why do you that?" said the friend, "will not the daises and litch- 
en do as well?" 

"No," said the great word-painter, "soon your stock of litchen and 
daises would be exhausted, and you must become monotonous; but ad- 
here to nature, and you will have the variety of nature." 

Not less scrupulously faithful to nature has our author been. Learn- 
ing that the principal scene of the story was laid in Patrick county, 
Ya.,T determined to make a pilgrimage to the now classic region of 
"the Devil's Backbone." On arriving at the court-house, I was in- 
formed that just such a locality as that described, formerly known by 
that name, but now. more familiarly known as "Witt's Spurr," was to 
be found in that wildest of mountain ranges, which rises in rugged gran- 
deur sis miles west of the village. I also learned, through the cour- 
tesy of that accomplished gentleman, Hon. W. B,. Staples, of the Con- 
federate Congress, that in 1820 or 25, Judge Tucker paid a visit to 
that region, and in company with Ms father, a soldier friend in the war 
of 1812, spent a day rambling over the mountains; and further, that 
" Witt" was a real character, and was probably now to be found some- 
where not distant from the scene where the author first introduces him. 
Veering southward on the North Carolina road, first of all to search out 
this old hero, at a distance of about three miles from the Court-1 ouse, 
I rode up to an humble dwelling oh the left, without thouul.t of else 
than enquiring the way, when an old woman, so large, so out-spoken 
and hard-sensed, reported herself in response to the call, and gave the 
desired directions, that it .occurred at once to my mind, this would be 
a worthy help meet of that "large, powerful man, of untaught wisdom 
Christian Witt." The following colloquy occurred. : 

" Who lives here, madam ?" 

'• Saunders Witt," with an independent air that bespoke pride of the 
tuiine and place. 


" Is he related to Christian Witt ?" 

" I don't know, he has a good many kinfolks of his name. He s at 
the stable a little way 'long up the lane there, and you can talk with 
hiih if you feel like it." 

I found him feeding his horse. When in response to, my call he 
straightened himself, I recognized, with scarcely the shade of a doubt, 
thoi original of his sraohic picture ; and was sure that the "Christian 
prefix was given by the author only because he had forgotten his chris- 
tian name. 

Alighting and introducing myself, after an interchange of enquiries, 
which fairly opened the way, said : 

"Are you related to the Old Mr. Witt who once lived at (he place 
now occupied by Charles Davis, just at the foot of the 'Devil's Back- 

" He was my father, sir." 

" Do you remember anything of Judge Beverley Tucker paying a 
visit to this section some thirty or forty years ago, and going up to look 
at these mountains ?" 

" Who ?" said he, "Adjutant Tucker. I knowed him in the war of 
twelve. Yes! I- was living then at my father's, and he come up there 
and said he wanted to go and look at the mountains; and my father 
went up with him. "I said to him, 'why Adjutant Tucker, how dt» you 
do, sir V and he said 'what, do you Know me?' ' Yes,' says I, 'did'nt 
I hear you read the orders at the head of the rigiment every evening 
at Norfolk.' And then he laughe'd." 
* "What kind of looking man was he, Mr. Witt?" 

"Well, sir, he was about five feet ten inches high, slim and straight, 
had light hair and light eyes, and looked as keen as a night-hawk, sir." 

From the account of many familiar with the author, it appears that 
his description of the mountaineer, though more elegant, was scarcely 
more graphic or comprehensive. 

Curious to know whether the latter would recognize his own picture, 
and that of his father's house and its romantic approaches and surround- 
ings, and could endorse the sentiments attributed to him twenty-five 
years ago, as those he would avow in the midst. of the stirring scenes 
in which he is supposed to act no unimportant part, I continued : 

« What would you think, Mr, Witt, if I were to tell you that this 
same ^Adjutant' Tucker, some ten years after his visit here, and twenty- 
five years ago, wrote a book, in w hioh he foretold all the great events 
in our history as a people V giving hinr an outHne of ^ ^ ag fm _ 
mshed in the beginning of this article. 

"Well, sir, I should think it right, Grange, but miglitly like some of 


our loading men told us ; for I heerd Gov. l^oyd make a speach once, 
and tell that these things was gwine to be, and pretty much how they 
was gwine to come about." " 

" But what would, you think if I were to tell you further that he has 
your name in the book ? thai he thinks Virginia hesitated till she was 
; nearly overrun by the enemy, that we are sustaining a sort of guerilla, 
'bush -whacking' warfare out here in the mountains, and that you are a 
.kind of lieutenant,, exerting a valuable influence among your mountain 
neighbours .?" 

" Well, I'd think that was" strange, too, but he know'd mc in the war 
of twelve !" 

" I have the book along, Mr. .Witt." 

" I'd be mighty much obleged to you if . you'd read it to me." 

I produced the Book, and complied with his request by reading the 
first two or three chapters. The description of the road, the stream, 
the mountains, and the surroundings of his father's house, were en- 
dorsed by an occasional " that's so, sir." When his name was intro- 
duced, and the description of his person, he said : 

" He must a meant me, sir." 

I suggested, " He supposes, Mr. Witt, that, these things occurred- 
some twelve or fifteen years ago. Could you not have borne, at that 
time of life, such a part as he attributes to you ?", 

" I reckon I could, 'sir ; for I ought to be mighty thankful that 
though I am failin now, I have been a very powerful man." 

When I read to him his remarks, ac the dinner, about trie scarcity 
of " salt," " and the Yankees holding James river," he added, with an 
air of grave astonishment — 

" I say that to you notd, sir !" 

I could but regard him with a- kind of romantic veneration, as a 
real character irr a great prophetic story, whose thrilling events have 
been essentially fulfilled, and in the realization of 'which, evincing the- 
same characteristics and endorsing the same sentiments which it was 
supposed he would maintain. All that I learned from his neighbors 
tended but to show that precisely such circumstances as those supposed 
would probably have developed precisely such a character as he is pre- 
sumed to have sustained. I may add, as ajpleasing little episode, that, 
though for these forty years " they have wedded been," he has never 
been known to depart or return, on a few miles trip, without Icissing his 
i{ darling Katie." 

In company with a friend, I spqnf a -day traversing the mountains. 
Fanned by the pure air, seven degrees cooler than in the sultry vale 
beneath, bearing upon its ever wavrng wings the sweets of a thousand 


flowers, we observed all the varieties of growth and scenery remarked 
by the author. We counted thirteen vertebra in the " Devil's Back- 
bone," or "notches in the Hen's JLadder," and it required no fertile 
imagination to locate the rocky covert of the sentinel, the stand of the 
piquet, and the headquarters of ," The Partisan Leader " — marked as 
the wide, wild gorge, with its difficult approaches of steep precipice, and 
its clear, dashing river,*" pouring over rugged barriers of yellow stone." 
The reader will observe that I have avoided the mention of the mere 
objective political features of the story, such as the person, and time of 
service of the President, whose election, by a sectional vote, caused the 
dissolution, as also the date of the occurrences, and suah like, which, 
■to the great subjective features that have been so strikingly realized, are 
as the drapery to the picture, and have sought simply to give him, at a 
glance, an insight into the character of the book, and to actualize some 
of its minor circumstances of sceaery and character. 

■A word of personal explanation, and I am done. My attention 
being called to the work by the notice alluded to, in the Literary Mes- 
senger, some twelve months since, I had felt the intensest curiosity to 
read and compare it with the momentous events of the present crisis, 
but had found my inquiries vain during that period, and had despaired 
of obtaining my object. A few weeks since, however, in the regular 
routine of duty, by a happy accident I blundered upon it. Amazed, 
and gratified in finding it a greater literary curiosity than I had even 
supposed, it immediately occurred to me that thousands must realize a 
similar interest with myself in its perusual; and that while its repub- 
lication was due alike to the fame .of its author and to historical pro- 
priety, its general circulation would tend to illlustrate the necessity of 
our position, to vindicate the justice of our cause, and to intensify 
Southern patriotism. Astonished that it had not been republished, I 
determined that if others would not undertake the work, with the ap- 
proval of those who.have the first right to represent the author and his 
interests, I would myself engage in the enterprise. Deferring as far 
as practicable to these, I was assured that they were desirous of its re- 
publication, and had once made arrangements for it; but owing to the 
fall of Norfolk the work had been estopped in that direction, and that 
I could therefore feel free to go forward With it. Pleased that I am 
permitted, in a manner consonant with the proprieties of the case, thus 
to minister as I humbly conceive, at once to the public gratification 
and the public good, I commit the great work, in its original form, to 
its own vindication, trusting to the intelligence of the reader to apply 
the coincidences which mark ite fulfilment as a political prophecy 

China Dale, Henry Co, Va. TH ° S : A ' WARK 



And whomsoe'er, along the path you meet, 
Bears in his cap the badge of crimson hue, 
Which tells you whom to shun and whom to greet. 


Toward the latter end of the month of October, 1849, about the 
hour of noon, a horseman was seen ascending a narrow valley at the 
eastern foot of the Blue Ridge. His road nearly followed the course of 
a small stream, which, issuing from a deep gorge of the mountain, 
winds its way between lofty hills, and terminates its brief and brawling 
course in one of the larger tributaries of the Dan. A glance of the eye 
took in the whole of the little settlement that lined its banks, and mea- 
sured the resources of its inhabitants. The different tenements were 
so near to each other as to allow but a small patch of arable land to 
each. Of manufactures there was no appearance, save only a rude shed 
at the entrance of the valley, on the door of which the oft-repeated 
brand of the horse shoe gave token of a smithy. There, too, the rivu- 
let, increased by the innumerable springs which afforded to every habi- 
tation the unappreciated, but inappreciable luxury of water, cold, clear 
and sparkling, had gathered strength enough ' to turn a tiny mill. Of 
trade there could be none. The bleak and rugged barrier, which 
closed the scene on the west, and the narrow road, fading to a foot- 
path, gave assurance to the traveller that he had here reached the nc 
plus ultra of social life in that direction. 

Indeed, the appearance of discomfort and poverty in every dwelling 
well accorded with the scanty territory belonging to each. The walls 
and chimneys of unhewn logs, the roofs of loose boards laid on long 
rib-poles, that projected from the gables, and held down by similar 
poles placed above them, together with the smoked and sooty appear- 
ance of the whole, betokened an abundance of timber, but a dearth of 


everything else. Contiguous to each was a sort of rude garden, de- 
nominated, in the ruder language of the country, a "truck patch. 
Beyond this lay a small field, a part of which had produced a crop of 
oats, while on the remainder the Indian corn still hung on the stalk, 
waiting to be gathered. Add to this a small meadow, and the reader 
will have an outline equally descriptive of each of the little farms 
which, for the distance of three miles, bordered the stream. 

But, though the valley thus bore the marks of a crowded popula- 
tion, a deep stillness pervaded it. The visible signs of life were few. 
Of sounds there were none. A solitary youngster, male or female, 
alone was seen loitering about every door. These, as the traveller 
passed along, would skulk from observation, and then steal out, and, 
mounting a fence, indulge their curiosity, at safe distances, by looking 
after him. 

At length he heard a sound of voices, and then a shrill whistle, and 
all was still. Immediately, some half a dozen men, leaping a fence, 
ranged themselves across the road and faced him. He observed that 
each, as he touched the ground, laid hold of a rifle that leaned against 
the enclosure, and this circumstance drew his attention to twenty or more 
of these formidable weapons, ranged along in the same position. The 
first impulse of the traveller was to draw a pistol ; but seeing that the 
men, as they posted themselves, rested their guns upon the ground and 
leaned upon them, he quietly withdrew his hand from his holster. It 
was plain that no violence was intended, and that this movement was 
nothing but a measure of precaution, such as the unsettled condition of 
the country required. He therefore advanced steadily but slowly, and, 
on reaching the party, reined iu his horse and silently invited the in- 
tended parky. 

The men, though somewhat variously attired, were all chiefly clad in half- 
dressed buck-skin. They seemed to have been engaged in gathering corn 
in the adjoining field. Their companions, who still continued the same 
occupation, seemed numerous enough (including women and boys, of 
both of which there was a full proportion,) to have secured the little 
crop in a few hours. Indeed, it would seem that the whole working 
population of the neighborhood, both male and female, was assembled 

As the traveller drew up his horse, one of the men, speaking in a 
low and quiet tone, said, " We want a word with you, stranger, before 
you go any further." 

"As many a3 you please," replied the other, "for I am tired and 
hungry, and so is my horse; and I am glad to find some one, at last, of 
whom I may hope to purchase something for both of us to eat." 


" That you can have quite handy " said the countryman ; " for we 
have been gathering corn, and were just going to our dinner. If you 
will only just 'light, sir, one of the boys can feed your horse, and you 
can take such as we have got to give you." 

The invitation was accepted ; the horse was taken in charge by a 
long-legged lad of fifteen, without hat or shoes, and the whole party 
crossed the fence together. 

At the moment, a man was seen advancing toward them, who, ob- 
serving their approach, fell back a few steps, and threw himself on the 
ground at the foot of a la»ge old apple-tree. Around this were clus- 
tered a motley group of men, women and boys, who opened and made 
way for the stranger. He advanced, and bowing gracefully, took off 
his forage cap, from beneath which a quantity of soft, curling flaxen 
hair fell over his brow and cheeks. Every eye was now fixed on him, 
with an expression rather of interest than mere curiosity. Every coun- 
tenance was serious and composed, and all wore an air of business, ex- 
cept that a slight titter was heard among the girls, who, hovering be- 
hind the backs of their mothers, peeped through the crowd to get a look 
at the handsome stranger. 

He was indeed a handsome youth, about twenty years of age, whose 
fair complexion and regular features made him seem yet younger. He 
was tall, slightly but elegantly formed, with a countenance in which soft- 
ness and spirit were happily blended. His dress was plain and cheap, 
though not unfashionable. A short grey coat, waistcoat and pantaloons, 
that neatly fitted and set off his handsome person, showed by the quality 
of the cloth that his means were limited, or that he had too much sense 
to waste in foppery that which might be better expended in the ser- 
vice of his suffering country. But, even in this plain dress, he was ap- 
parelled like a king in comparison with the rustics that surrounded 
him ; and his whole air would have passed him for a gentleman in any 
dress and any company where the constituents of that character are 
rightly understood. 

In the present assembly there seemed to be none, indeed, who could 
be supposed to have had much experience in that line. But dignity is 
felt, and courtesy appreciated by all, and the expression of frankness 
and truth is everywhere understood. 

As the youth approached, the man at the foot of the tree arose and 
returned the salutation, which seemed unheeded by the rest. He 
advanced a step or two, and invited the stranger to be seated. This 
action, and the looks turned toward him by the others, showed that he 
was in authority of some sort among them. With him, therefore, our 
traveller concluded that the proposed conference was to be held. There 


was nothing in his appearance which would have led a careless ob- 
server to assign him any pre-eminence; but a second glance might have 
discovered something intellectual in his countenance, with less of boor- 
ishness in his air and manner than the rest of the company displayed. 
In all, indeed, there was the negative courtesy of that quiet and serious 
demeanor which solemn occasions impart to the rudest and most frivq r 
lous. It was plain to see that they had a common purpose, and that 
neither ferocity nor rapacity entered into their feeling toward the new- 
comer. Whether he was to be treated as a friend or an enemy, obvi- 
ously depended on some high consideration, not yet disclosed. 

He was at length asked from whence he came, and answered from 
the neighborhood of Richmond. From which side of the river ? 
From the north side. Did he know anything of Van Courtlandt ? His 
camp was at Bacon's Branch, just above the town. What force had 

" I cannot say certainly," he replied, " but common fame made his 
numbers about four thousand." 

" Is that all, on both sides of the river ?" said his interrogator. 

" 0, no ! Col. Loyal's regiment is at Petersburg, and Col. Coles's at 
Manchester — each about five hundred strong ; and there is a piquet on 
the bridge island." 

" Did you cross there ?" 

" I did not." 

" Where then ?" he was asked. 

" I can hardly tell," he replied ; " it was at a private ford, several 
miles above Cartersville." 

" Was not that mightily out of the way ? What made you come so 
far around ?"- 

" It was safer travelling on that side of the river." 

" Then the people on that side of the river are your friends ?" 

" No, they are not ; but, as they are all of a color there, they would 
let me pass, and ask no questions, as long as I travelled due west. On 
this side, if you are one man's friend, you are the next man's enemy; 
and I had no mind to answer questions." 

" You seem to answer them now mighty freely." 

" That is true. I am like a letter that tells all it knows as soon as it 
gets to the right hand ; but it does not want to be opened before that." 

" And how do you know that you have got to the right hand now ?'" 

" Because I know where I am." 

" And where are you ?" 

« Just at the foot of the Devil's Backbone," replied the youth. 

" Were you ever here before ?" 


11 Never in my life." 

" How do you know then where you are ?" asked the mountaineer. 

" Because the right way to avoid questions is to ask none. So I took 
care to know all ahout the road, and the country, and the place, before 
I left home." 

" And who told you all ahout it ?" 

" Suppose I should tell you," answered the young man, "that Van 
Courtlandt had a map of the country made, and gave it to me." 

" I should say you were a traitor to him or a spy to us," was the 
stern reply. 

At the same moment a startled hum was heard from the crowd, and 
the press moved and swayed for an instant, as if a sort of spasm had 
pervaded the whole mass. 

" You are a good hand at questioning," said the youth, with a smile ; 
" but, without asking a single question, I have found out all I wanted 
to know." 

" And what was that ?" asked the other. 

" Whether you were friends to the Yorkers and Yankees, or to poor 
old Virginia." 

" And which are we for ?" added the laconic mountaineer. 

" For Old Virginia forever," replied the youth, in a tone in 
which exultation rung through a deeper emotion, that half stifled his 

It reached the hearts of his auditors, and was echoed in a shout that 
pealed along the mountain sides their proud war-cry of " Old Virgi- 
nia forever I" The speaker looked around in silence, but with a 
countenance that spoke all that the voices of his comrades had uttered. 

" Quiet, boys," said he, " never shout till the war is ended, unless it 
be when you see the enemy." Then turning again to the traveller, he 
said, " And how did you know we were for old Virginia ?" 

" I knew it by the place where I find you. I heard it in your voice ; 
I saw it in their eyes ; and I felt it in my heart," said the young man, 
extending his hand. 

His inquisitor returned the cordial pressure with an iron grasp, 
strong, but not convulsive, and went on : " You are a sharp youth," 
said he, "and if you are of the right metal that will "hold an edge, you 
will make somebody feel it. But I don't know rightly yet who that is 
to be, only just I will say, that if you are not ready to live and die by 
old Virginia, your heart and face are not of the same color, that's all." 

He then resumed his steady look and quiet tone, and added, "You 
must not make me forget what I am about. How did you learn the 
way here ?" 


" I can answer that now," said the youth. " I learned It from Cap- 
tain Douglas." 

" Captain Douglas !" exclaimed the other. " If you were never hero v 
before, you have never seen him since he knew it himself." 

" True enough," was the reply, " but I have heard from him." 

"I should like to see his letter. 

" I have no letter." 

" How then ?" 

" Go with me to my horse and I will show you." 

The youth, accompanied by his interrogator, now returned toward the 
fence. Many of the crowd were about to follow ; but the chief (for 
such he seemed) waved them back with a silent motion of his hand, 
while a glance of meaning; at two of the company invited them to pro- 
ceed.. As soon as the stranger reached his horse, he drew out, from 
beoeath the padding and seat of his saddle, a paper closely folded. On 
opening this, it was found to be a map of his route from Richmond to 
a point in the mountains, a few miles west of the spot where they stood. 
On this were traced the roads and streams, with the names of a few 
places, written in a hand which was known to the leader of the moun- 
taineers to be that of Captain Douglas. A red line marked the devious 
route the traveller had been directed to pursue. 

He said that after crossing the river, between Lynchburg and Car- 
tersville, to avoid the parties of the enemy stationed at both places, he 
had lain by, until dark, at the house of a true Virginian. Then turn- 
ing south, and riding hard all night, he had crossed the Appomattox 
above Farmville, (which he avoided for a like reason,) and, before day, 
had left behind him all the hostile posts and scouting parties. He soon 
reached the Staunton river, and having passed it, resumed his westward 
course in comparative safety. 

" You know this hand," said he to the chief, " and now I suppose 
you are satisfied." 

" I am satisfied," replied the other, " and glad to see you. I have 
not a doubt about you, yoUng man, and you are heartily welcome among 
us, to all we can give you— and that ain't much—and all we can do 
for you; and that will depend upon whether stout hearts, and willing 
minds, and good rifles can help you. But you said you were hungry; 
so I dare say you'll be glad enough of a part of our sorry dinner." 



Heus ! etiam Mensas consumimus. — Virgil. 

Returning to the party which they had left, they found the women 
in the act of placing their meal before them, under the apple-tree. 
There was a patch of grass there, but no shade ; nor was any needed in 
that lofty region. The frost had already done its work by stripping 
the trees of their leaves, and letting in the welcome rays of the sun 
through the naked branches. The meal consisted of fresh pork and 
venison, roasted or broiled on the coals, which looked tempting enough, 
though served up in wooden trays. There were no knives but such as 
each hunter carries in his belt. Our traveller's dirk supplied the place 
of one to him. Their plates were truly classical, consisting of cakes of 
Indian «orn, baked in the ashes, so that, like the soldiers of iEnas, each 
man ate his platter before his hunger .was appeased. 

Our traveller, though sharp-set, could not help perceiving a woful 
insipidity in his food, for which his entertainer apologized. " We 
ha'nt got no salt to give you, stranger," said he. " The little that's 
made on the waters of Holston is all used there ; and what comes by 
way of the sound is too dear for the like of us, that fight one half the 
year and work the other half, and then with our rifles in our hands. 
As long as we let the Yankees hold James river, we must make up our 
minds to eat our hogs when they are fat, and to do without salt to our 
bread. But it is not worth grumbling about; and bread without salt is 
more than men deserve that will gave up their country without fighting 
for it." 

When the meal was finished, our traveller, expressing a due sense of 
the courtesy of his entertainers, asked what • was to pay, and proposed 
to continue his journey. 

" As to what you are to pay, my friend," said the spokesman of the 
party, in the same cold, quiet tone, " that is just nothing. If you come 
here by Captain Douglas's invitation, you are one of us ; and if you do 
not, we are bound to find you as long as we keep you. But, as to your 
going just yet, it is quite against our rules." 

" How is that V asked the traveller, with some expression of impa- 

" That is what I cannot tell you ;" replied the other. 


" But what right," exclaimed the youth — then cheeking himself, he 
added — " But I see you mean nothing but what is right and prudent ~ f 
and you must take your own way to find out all you wish to know 
about me. But I thought you said you did not doubt me." 

" No more I do," replied the other ; " but that is not the thing. 
May be, our rules are not satisfied, though I am." 
" And what are your rules 1" 

"It is against rule to tell them," said the mountaineer, drily. "But 
make yourself easy, stranger. We mean you no harm, and I will see 
and have every thing laid straight before sun-rise. You are heartily 
welcome. Such as we've got we give you; and that is better than you 
will find where you are going. For our parts, except it be for salt, we 
are about as well off here as common ; because there is little else we 
use that comes from foreign parts. I dare say, it will go hard with you 
for a while, sir; but, if your heart 'is right, you will not mind it, and 
you will soon get used to it." 

" It would be a great shame," said the youth, " if I cannot bear for 
a while what you have borne for life." 

" Yes," said the other, " that is the way people talk. But (axing 
your pardon, sir,) there an't no Esense in it. Because the longer a man 
bears a thing, the less he minds it; and after a while, it an't no hard- 
ship at all. And that's the way with the poor negroes that the Yan- 
kee^ pretended to be so sorry for, and tried to get them to-rise against 
Iheir masters. There's few of them, stranger, but what's happier than 
I am ; but I should be mighty unhappy, if you were to catch me now, 
in my old days, and make a slave of me. So when the Yankees want 
to set the negroes free, and to make me a slave, they want to put us 
both to what we are not fit for. And so it will be with you for a while, 
among these mountains, sleeping on the ground, and eating you meat 
without salt, or bread either, may be. But after a while you will not 
mind it. But as to whether it is to be long or short, young man, you 
must not think about that. You have no business here, if you have 
not made up your mind to stand the like of that for life; and may be 
that not so mighty lqng neither." 

At this moment a signal from the road gave notice of the approach 
ot a traveller; and the leader of the mountaineers, accompanied by 
ms guest, went forward in obedience to it. But, before he reached 
the ience, he saw several of the party leap it, and run eagerly forward 
to meet the new-compr a r-n.1 

and wearily, whose dress flff * tTi-T /PP eared » ™ lkin § alowl J 

an ^ „!,„ £ rT f ed but llttle from that of tlle natives; 

and wno bore, like them i ,.;<*„ -^ •, 

v - & tnmn , , \ . > a nfle > Wltn ^s proper accompaniments of 
knife, tomahawk, and powder-horn. Hi s arrival awakened a tumult of 


joy among the younger persons present, while he whom I have designa- 
ted as the chief stood still, looking toward him with a countenance in 
which an expression of thoughtful interest was mingled- with a sort of 
quiet satisfaction, and great kindness and good will. Yet he moved 
but a step to meet him, and extending his hand, said, in his usual cold 
tone, " How is it, Schwartz ?" to which the other, in a voice somewhat 
more cherry, replied, " Well ; how is it with you, Witt ?" " Well," 
was the grave answer. 

The two now drew apart to converse privately together. Crossing 
the road, they seated themselves on the fence in front of the stranger, 
so that during their conference they could keep an eye on him. 

" Who is this you have got here ?" asked Schwartz. 

" A young fellow who says he wants to go to the camp," replied the 

" Has he got the word and signs V 

" No. He does not know any thing about it. I have a notion he is 
a friend of the captain's." 

" What makes you think so ?" 

" He has got a paper in the captain's hand write to show him the 
way. But there's no name to it ; and if there was, I could not tell 
that he was the man. Sure and sartin the captain wrote the paper, 
but then somebody may have stolen it. A man that knows as much 
about the country as he does, after looking at that paper and travelling 
by it away here, is the last man we ought to let go any farther, or know 
any more, unless he is of the right sort." 

" I should like to see that paper," said Schwartz. 

" Here it is," replied his companion. " I don't much mistrust the 
young fellow; but I did not like to let him have it again till I knew 

Schwartz now looked at the paper and enquired the stranger's 


" I did not ask .his name," said Witt, " because he could just tell 
me what name he pleased. As there was no name on the paper, it did 
not make any odds. Besides, I wanted to be civil to him, and your 
high gentlemen down about Richmond are affronted sometimes if you 
ask their names. The young fellow is all right, or all wrong, any how; 
and his name don't make any odds. If the captain knows him, when 
he sees him, it's all one what his name is." 

" But I know," said Schwartz, "who ought to have that paper; and 
if he don't answer to that name it's no use troubling the captain with 


"I should be sorry for any harm to him," said Witt, "for he is a 
smart lad ; and if he is not a . true Virginian, then he is the greatest 
hypocrite that ever was born." 

They now recrossed the road, and Schwartz, addressing the stranger, 
said, " I must make so bold, young man, as to ask your name. 

The young fellow colored, and, turning to Witt, said, " I thought 
you were satisfied, and done asking questions." 

" So I was," said Witt, " but there is a reason for asking your name 
now, that I did not know of. I owe you nothing but good will, young 
man," added he with earnest solicitude; "and if your name is what I 
hope it is, be sure by all means and tell the truth ; for there is but one 
name in the world that will save your neck." 

" Then I shall tell you no name at all," rejoined the youth, some- 
what appalled at this startling intimation. " Why did not you ask me 
at once, when I was in the humor to keep nothing from you. I was 
willing to answer any civil question, or indeed any question you would 
have put to me, but I will not submit to be examined, over and over, 
by every chance-comer." 

" There's where you are wrong, young man," replied Witt. " This 
is no chance-comer. He is my head man, and I am just nobody when 
he is here." 

Surprised at this ascription of authority to the diminutive and mean- 
looking new-comer, our traveller looked at him again, and was confirmed 
in a resolution to resist it. He had patiently borne to be questioned 
by Witt, who had something of an air of dignity. He was a tall, 
clean-limbed, and powerful man, of about forty, remarkable for the so- 
briety of his demeanor, and the thoughtful gravity of his countenance. 
The other was a little, old fellow, not less than sixty years of age, in 
whose manner and carriage there was nothing to supply the want of 
dignity in his diminutive form and features. A sharp, little, black eye 
was the only point about him to attract attention ; and in that the youth 
thought he saw an impertinent and knowing twinkle, which rendered 
his inquiries yet more offensive. 

" I thought," said he to Witt, " that Captain Douglas was jour 

" So he is," was his reply. « That is, he commands all here. But 
that is only so long as we choose. I did not tell you this was my cap- 
tain. He is no captain, nor lieutenant, nor ensign neither. But all of 
us here follow him ■ and, when he is away, the rest follow me." 

« You all follow Mm!" said the traveller, looking contemptuously on 
the puny figure before him. 


"To be sure they do," said Schwartz, with a quizzical smile, and an- 
swering the stranger's thoughts. " To be sure they do. Don't you see 
I am the likeliest man here ?" 

"I cannot say I do," said the youth, offended at the impertinent 
manner of the question. 

" Well, I am the strongest man in the whole company." 

" I should hardly' think that," replied the traveller, scornfully. 

" Any how, then, I am the biggest," rejoined Schwartz, laughing. 
" That you must own. What ! do you dispute that, too ? Well, then, 
look here, stranger*! I ha'nt got no commission, and these men are as 
free as I am. What do you think makes them obey my orders ?" 

" I really cannot say," replied the young man. 

•' Well," said Schwartz, " it is a curious business, and well worth 
your considering; because, you see, I have a notion if you could find 
that out, you would find out a pretty good reason why you ought to tell 
me your name. But that is your business. Some name you must have, 
and the right one, too. And you see, stranger, it makes no odds 
whether it is no name or the wrong one. It is all the same thing; be- 
cause, if you are the man that ought to have that paper, you would tell 
your name in a minute." 

" Do you know who ought to have it ?" asked the youth. 
" May be I do," said Schwartz. 

'• Question for question," said the other. •' Do you know ?" 
" I do." 

"jWell, then, my name is Arthur Trevor. Is th it right ?" 
" That's as it may be," said Schwartz. " But now I want to know 
how you came by this paper." 

" What need you care about that, if I am the person that ought to 
have it." 

" Just because I want to know if you are the one that ought to 
have it." 

" I tell you," replied the youth, " that my name is Arthur Trevor." 
" But I do not knoio that it is," replied Schwartz; carelessly. 
"Do you doubt my word, then?" exclaimed the youth; his eye 
flashing, and the blood rushing to his face, as if it would burst through 
his clear skin. 

" Look here, stranger," said Schwartz, in a tone of quiet expostula- 
tion ; " I don't mean no offence, and you will think so too, if you'll 
just look at it rightly ; because, you see, I don't know who you are. I 
don't doubt Arthur Trevor's word ; and, if you are Arthur Trevor, I 
don't doubt your word. Now, if you have any way to show that you 


are Arthur Trevor, you have but to do it, and it will set all as straight 
as if I had axed you ten thousand pardons." 

" Eut I have no means of showing it," said the young man, in some 
perplexity. " I took care to bring nothing with me to show who I am. 
The name of Trevor might have brought me into trouble in some parts 
of the country." 

" That is true enough," replied Schwartz, « and so I asked you how 
you came by the paper, because I know how Arthur Trevor should 
have come by it; and, if you got it that way, why then you are the 
very man." 

By this time the youth saw the folly of his anger, and answered, 
calmly, that he got it from a man he never saw before. 

" What sort of a man was he ?" asked Schwartz. 

"Nothing uncommon, except that he was lame." 

" Did he give you any thing else at the same time ?" 

"Yes— he gave me this," said the youth, producing a dirty piece 
of paper, on which was scrawled these words : 

" Sur. If you hav occashun to go of a jurney, carry this with you, 
bekase it mout be of sum sarvice to you." 

" Well," said Schwartz, " that will dd. You are Arthur Trevor, 
sure enough. And I reckon, Witt, you would have said so too, if you 
had seen this." 

Witt looked at the paper, and merely nodded assent. 

"' Well," said the young man, " now I suppose I may go to my 

" Not just yet," said Schwartz. 

"Why so?" asked the youth, again relapsing into petulance. 

" Just because you could not get there," was the answer. 

" Why not," said he, " after finding my way thus far." 

" For the same reason that you could not have got any farther if I 
had not come. You would meet with rougher customers than these be- 
tween here -and the camp. Come, come, my son. You must learn to 
take things easy. The captain has not got a better friend than me m 
the world ; nor ytm neither, if you did but know all. And, you see, 
you are going to a new trade ; and I thought I would just give you a 
lesson. Now you may see, that, when you mean nothing but what is 
fair and honorable, (and you always know how that is,) the naked truth 
is your best friend; and then, the sooner it comes the better. lam 
pretty much of an old fox ; and I reckon I have told more lies than 
you ever dreamed of, but, for all that, I have seen the day when the 
truth was better than the cunningest lie that ever was told. And then 


again, it an't no use to mind what a man says when he don't know 
you; because, you see, it an't you he is talking to, but just a stran- 
g er» 

"But I have travelled desperate hard to-day, Witt," continued 
Schwartz, "and I must push on to the camp to-night. So just give mo 
a mouthful, and I'll be off, and pilot Mr. Trevor through among the 

" My horse is at your service, as you are tired," said Arthur, whose 
feelings towards his new acquaintance were now quite mollified. 

" I have had riding enough for one day," said Schwartz ; " and was 
glad enough to get to where I could leave my horse. It an't much 
good a horse will do you, or me either, where we are going. By the 
time we climb to the top of the Devil's Back-bone, you'll be more tired 
than me; and the horse will be worst off of any." 

He now told one of the boys to make ready Arthur's horse, and, 
snatching a hasty morsel, seized his rifle. " It will not do," said he, 
*' to starve when a man is on fatigue, and it will not do to eat too 
much. And see here, Witt," added he, taking him apart, and speak- 
ing in a low tone, " if a long-legged, red-headed fellow comes along 
here, and tells you he is from Currituck, and seems to think he knows all 
the signs, never let him find out but what he does. Only just make 
an excuse to keep him a while, and send -a runner on to me, that I may 
have time to get out of the way, because he must not see me. Then 
you can start him off again with a couple of fellows to show him the 



• The forest's shady scene, 

Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, 
And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been. — Byron. 

The travellers now moved off together, Arthur walking, and lead- 
ing his horse. They soon reached a point where a sharp ridge, jutting 
like a buttress from the side of the mountain, came down abruptly 
to the very bank of the rivulet. Up this ridge, not unaptly called 
" the Devil's Back-bone," the path led. Leaning, as it were, against 
the mountain — its position, the narrow ridgy edge along which the tra- 
veller clambered, and the rough nodules which interrupted the ascent, 
like the notches in a hen's ladder, gave it no small resemblance to this 
housewifely contrivance. The steep descent on either hand into deep 
dells, craggy and hirsute with stinted trees bristling from the sides, to- 
gether with the similarity of these same nodules to the joints of the 
spine, had suggested a name strictly descriptive of the place. The 
ruggedness, steepness, and vast height of the ascent, would naturally 
provoke some spiteful epithet; and were the spot to be named again, 
a hundred to one it would receive the same name, and no other. 

At the summit of this narrow stair, the travellers stopped to take 
breath, and look back on the scene below. Arthur, who was at the 
romantic age when young men are taught to affect an enthusiasm for 
the beauties of nature, and to prate about hues and scents, and light 
and shade, and prospects in all the variety of the grand, the beautiful, 
and the picturesque, had been feasting his imagination with the thought 
of the glorious view to be seen from the pinnacle before him. Like 
an epicure about to feast on turtle, who will not taste a biscuit before- 
hand lest he should spoil his dinner, so our young traveller steadily 
kept his face toward the hill as he ascended it. Even when he stopped 
to take breath, he was careful not to look behind. Schwartz, on the 
contrary, who was in advance, always faced about on such occasions, 
filling the pauses with conversation, and looking as if unconscious of 
the glorious scene over which his eye glanced unheeding. Arthur was 
vexed to see such indifference, and wondered whether this was the 
effect of use, or of the total absence of a faculty of which poets so 
much delight to speak. 


At length the summit was attained ; and now the youth looked 
around in anticipated exultation. At first he felt bound to admire, 
and forgetting the unromantic character of his matter-of-fact com- 
panion, exclaimed : " Oh ! how grand ! How beautiful !" 

"For my part," said Schwartz, indifferently, "I cannot say that I 
see any thing at all rightly, except it be the little branch down there, 
with its patches of meadow and corn-fields, and its smoky cabins. In 
the spring of the year, when you cannot sec the cabins for the shaders, 
and the corn, and oats, and meadow is all of a color, it looks mightily 
like a little green snake. What it is like just now, I cannot say, as I 
never saw one of them snakes half-scaled, and with a parcel of warts on 
his back : but I have a notion he would look pretty much so. As to any 
thing else — there is something there, to be sure, but what it is, I am 
sartain I could never tell, if I did not know. And as to the distance 
I hear some folks talk about — why the farther you look, the less you 
see, that's all ; until you get away yonder, t'other side of nowhere ; 
and then you see just nothing at all." 

" But the vastness of the view !" said Arthur. " The idea of im- 
mensity !" 

"As to that," replied Schwartz, "you have only just to look right 
up, and you can look a heap farther, and still see nothing. All the 
difference is, you know it is nothing ; and down there, you know there 
is something, and you cannot see what it is." 

" I am afraid your eyes are bad," said Arthur. 

"I cannot see as well as I could once," replied Schwartz; "but if 
there was anything to be seen down there, I should be right apt to see 
it. I have clomb this hill, Mr. Trevor, when I could see the head of 
a nail in a target fifty yards off, and drive it with my rifle; and I don't 
think I saw any thing more then than I do now; and that is only just 
because there an't nothing there to see. ---I G-od! but there is, though! 
There's that chap a coming along; and I must see the Captain, and 
tell him all about it before he comes." 

"I see nobody," said Arthur. 

" That is because you don't look in the right place," replied Schwartz. 
"Look along the road." 

"I don't see the road, except just at the foot of the mountain." 

" Well ! Look through the sights of my rifle. There ! Don't you 
see a man on horseback ?" 

"I see something moving," said Arthur; but I cannot tell what 
it is." 

" Well," said Schwartz, " when he comes, you'll see it's a man riding 


on a white horse, and then, may be, you'll think if there was any thing 
else there, I could see that too." 

He now sounded a small whistle, which hung by a leathern throng 
from his shoulder-belt. The signal was answered from the point of a 
projecting crag which jutted out from the face of the cliff, not more 
than fifty yards off. At the same moment, a man was seen to rise up 
from behind a rock, which had hitherto concealed him ; though, from 
his lookout place, he must have had a distinct view of our travellers 
from the moment they left the valley. He now approached and ac- 
costed Schwartz in a manner which showed that he had already recog- 
nized him. Schwartz returned the salutation, and, pointing out the 
man on the white horse, said : « If Chat fellow should happen to get 
by without their seeing him, I want you just to fall in with him, like 
as if you was a hunting, and so go with him to the piquet. Never let 
on but he knows all the signs, and keep with him : and when you get 
him to the piquet, make him believe that is the camp, and that the 
Captain will be there after a while; and so keep him there till the 
Captain comes." • 

Having said this, he again turned his eye toward the object moving 
below, and gazed intently for a few minutes. Arthur, in the mean 
time, was left to admire the prospect, and soon began to suspect that 
Schwartz's ideas of the picturesque were not so far wrong. Indeed; 
there is.nothing to admire from the spot, but the road that leads to it. 
From the foot of the mountain to the coast, there is an expanse of 
nearly three hundred miles, with no secondary ridges. As seen from 
that elevation, the whole is level to the eye, and presents one sheet of 
unbroken forest. Arthur found time to correct his preconceptions by the 
testimony of his own senses, while Schwartz continued to observe the 
movements of the distant traveller. At last he said: "That will do. 
They have stopped him; and he will not get away to-night." 

They now moved on quietly through a forest of lofty chestnuts, and 
along a path which wound its way among the scorched trunks of in- 
numerable trees, prostrated by the fires that annually sweep through 
such uninhabited tracts. The soil seemed fertile, and abounding in 
luxuriant though coarse pasturage; and the high table-land of the 
mountain was more level than the peopled district below. Yet all was 
solitary and silent ; nor was a vestige of habitation seen for miles. On 
inquiring the cause of this, Arthur was told that the country, at that 
elevation, was too cold to be inviting, as nothing would grow there but 
grass and oats, and that it was all shingled over with conflicting patents. 
"They that claim the land," said Schwartz, "will not go to law about 
it with one another ; because they would have to survey it, an d that 


would cost a mint of money; so they all club to keep it as a summer 
range for their stock. It belongs to some of them, and that is enough." 

He had not long done speaking, when he suddenly stopped, and, 
raising his rifle, fired, and began quietly to load again. 

■"What did you shoot at?" asked Arthur, looking in the direction of 
the shot. 

"A monstrous fine buck," replied Schwartz. 

"Where is he ? I did not see him." 

"You did not look in the right place. He is down and kicking; 
and I always like to load my gun before I go up to them, because, you 
see, a deer, when he is wounded, is as dangerous as a painter." 

"A painter!" said Arthur. "What harm is there in a painter, 
more than another man?" 

" 1" said Schwartz, laughing, " it an't no man at all. I don't just 
rightly know how you high larnt gentlemen call his name, but he is as 
ugly a varmint as you'd wish to see; most like a big cat. Sometimes 
the drotted Yankees gets hold of them and puts them in a cage; and 
then they call them tigers. I God! I catched a young one once and 
sold him to one of these fellows; and the next time I seed him, he was 
carrying the cretur about with him for a show. And he did not re- 
member me; and so I axed him what it was; and he said 'twas an 
Effrican tiger right from Duck river! Lord! how the folks did laugh; 
'cause you see, sir, Duck river is just a little way down here in Tennes- 
see, not over five hundred miles off; and Effrica, they tell me, is away 
t'other side of the herring-pond, where the negurs come from." 

By this time the rifle was loaded, and they advanced toward the 
fallen deer. They were quite near before Arthur discovered him ; and, 
at the moment, the animal (a noble buck of ten branches) recovered 
himself so far as to regain his feet. He still staggered, but the sud- 
den sight of his enemy seemed, at once, to stiffen his limbs with horror, 
and give them strength to support him. In an instant his formidable 
antlers were pointed ; and, with eyes glaring and blood-shot, and his 
hair all turned the wrong way, he was in act to spring forward. At 
the instant, the report of the rifle was again heard, and, pitching on 
the points of his horns, he turned fairly heels over head, and lay with 
his legs in air, and quivering in death. Schwartz now drew his knife 
across the animal's throat, and proceeded to disembowel him, when 
Arthur asked what he would do with the carcass. 

"I'll just hang him up in a sapling," said he, "till I meet one of 
our men. There ought to be one close by, and I can send him for him. 
Where there's a hundred mouths to feed, such a buck as this is a cash 




At this moment the snapping of dry sticks caught his ear; and, 
looking up, he saw a man approaching. . , 

" I don't know that fellow," said he, looking hard at him. "But it 3 
all one. I can make him know me." 

The usual salutation now passed, and the stranger said : " If I may 
be so bold, stranger, I'd be glad to know what parts you are from?" 

"From Passamaquoddy," said Schwartz. 

" Can you tell me the price of skins down there away ?" 

"Twenty-five cents and a quarter a pound," replied Schwartz. 

A few more simple questions and out-of-the-way answers were ex- 
changed, when Schwartz, addressing the other, in an under tone, said : 
"You are one of the new recruits, I reckon ? The other nodded; and 
Schwartz went on to ask their number. Being told they were fifty, he 
said, gravely: "Now there you are wrong. You are right enough to 
pass me, after I gave you the word; but then that's no reason you 
should tell me any thing. I just asked you, you see, to give you a 
'caution; cause a fellow might come along here that would give you 
the word as straight as any body, and be a spy all the time. So the 
right way would be, just to pass him and keep dark, that's the rule; 
and, by the time he'd find out how many men we've got, may be he'd 
find out something else he would not like quite so well. But come, let 
us take the deer up to the road, and you can walk your post and watch 
it, till I can send somebody for it from the piquet." 

The sturdy mountaineer at once shouldered the animal; and, strid- 
ing along to the road, threw him down, and quietly betook himself to 
eating the chestnuts that covered the ground. The traveller moved on, 
and presently came to the piquet. 

Here was a small party quartered in a rude and ruinous cabin, near 
which was an enclosure around a beautiful fountain, that welled up 
from a natural basin of stone. In this were confined twenty or thirty 
calves. A few horses were piqueted at hand, and the sides of the ad- 
joining hills were covered with a numerous herd of fat cattle, browsing 
on the faded, but still succulent vegetation. The time was come when 
they should have been driven down for the winter, to the farms of their 
owners below, but they were left here that the men might-have the use 
of the milk. Should their hunting at any time prove unsuccessful, 
there was always a beef at hand. 

Here Schwartz was known, and joyfully welcomed. He stopped 
only to tell of the deer, and moved on. " You have a curious system 
here," said Arthur; "I see the people here know you, but how did 
you manage with that new recruit. I watched you, and I did not see 
you give him any sign, and he did not ask for a countersign." 


"That is all because ypu don't know what foolish answers I gave to 
his questions. You see we ha'nt got no countersign rightly; 'cause 
you see, when I stop a man, I want to know who he is, but I don't 
want to tell him any thing about myself. But if I ax a man for the 
countersign, just so I might as well tell him I am on guard at once. 
So we've just got, may be, twenty simple questions; and when we ask 
them, our own folks know what answer to give, and the answer is sure 
to be one that nobody would give unless he was in the secret." 
" And pray how did you find out that I was Arthur Trevor ?." 
," ! nothing easier, sir. That man, that gave you the map, was 
not no more lame than you. But I told him to be sure and not to give 
it to nobody but you, and then to limp so as you'd be sure to notice it. 
You see, it was I that was to try fall in with you, and pilot you ; but, 
after that, I got upon another scheme. As to the other paper, that 
was^o serve you with our folks, because there was a mark there you 
did not notice, that any of them would know; and then they would be 
middling sure you were the man you said you were. They would have 
* been civil to you, and let you pass, but then they would have sent a 
man or two to the camp with you. And now, Mr. Trevor, here is some- 
thing that I can see, and I have a notion it's worth looking at." 

While he was yet speaking, Arthur's ears had been saluted by a 
brawling sound, which he now- recognized as the rush of water. Turn- 
ing his head toward it, he perceived that it proceeded from a deep and 
shaggy dell, which the path was now approaching, and along the verge 
of which it presently wound. Here the plain broke sheer down into 
a gulph of vast depth, at the bottom of which a considerable stream 
was seen. It dashed rapidly along, pouring its sparkling waters over 
successive barriers of yellow rock, that sent up a golden gleam from 
beneath the crystal sheet that covered them. The mountain-pine, the 
fir, the kalmia, and numberless other evergreens, which nearly filled 
the gorge, afforded only occasional glimpses of the water; while they 
set off the picturesque appearance of so much as they permitted to be 
seen. As they advanced, they came to a part where the trees had been 
cut from the brow of the cliff; and, several of those below having been 
removed, a clearer view was afforded 

Here, at the depth of two hundred feet, figures were seen moving to 
and fro, while, right opposite, under a beetling cliff, that screened them 
from above, were groups clustered around, fires, kindled against the 
rock, behind a rude breast-work of logs-. The whole breadth of the 
stream was here exposed to view, apparently twenty or thirty yards 
wide. Though shallow, by reason of its rapidity it seemed to pour a 
vast volume of water. 


Standing on the brow of the cliff, Schwartz now uttered a shout, and 
immediately half a dozen men, seizing their rifles, moved up the glen, 
and were soon hidden under the bank on which the travellers stood. 
They now went on, and presently reached a point at which the path, 
turning short to the left, dived into the abyss, leading down a rug- 
ged ledge that sloped along the face of the cliff, in the direction 
opposite to that of their approach. It reached the very bottom, nearly 
under the point from which the shout of Schwartz had given notice 
of his presence. Here he stopped ; and requesting Arthur to wait a 
moment, he descended. He had not gone far before his name was 
repeated by a .dozen voices, and immediately he was heard to say: 
"Yes, it is Schwartz; and [ have a friend with me." 

"Bring him down," was the answer; upon which Schwartz, return- 
ing, requested Arthur to follow him, and mind his footing. Arthur 
obeyed, and descended, not without some appearance of danger, some- 
times leaping and sometimes crawling, until he reached the group 
stationed at the foot of this rude stair-way. Here let us leave him for 
a while, and go back to enquire who and whence he was. 



■ Handmaid of Prudence, Fortune comes 

Prompt to her bidding, ready to fulfil 

Her mistress' pleasure ; whether she demand 

The treasures of the South, the applause of n.en, 

Or the calm sunshine of domestic bliss, 

Lo ! they are hers ! Anonymous. 

Arthur Trevor was the youngest son of a gentleman who resided 
in the neighborhood of Richmond. He was a man in affluent circum- 
stances, and had long and honorably filled various important and digni- 
fied stations in the service of his native State. Endowed with hand- 
some talents, and amiable disposition, and all the accomplishments that 
can adorn a gentleman, he added to these the most exemplary virtues. 
His influence in society had, of course, been great, and though now, at 
the age of seventy, withdrawn from public life, his opinions were en- 
quired of, and his counsel sought, by all who had access to him. 
Through life he had been remarkable for firmness, and yet more for 
prudence. The steadiness of his principles could never be questioned, 
but, it was thought, he had sometimes deemed it wise to compromise, 
when men of less cautious temper would have found safety in prudent 

To this temperament had been attributed his conduct in regard to 
the politics of the last twenty years. Bred up in the school of State 
rights, and thoroughly imbued with its doctrines, he had, even before 
that time, been accustomed to look, with a jealous eye, on the progres- 
sive usurpations of the Federal Government. In the hope of arresting 
these, he had exerted more than his usual activity in aiding to put 
down the younger Adams, and to elevate his successor. Though no 
candidate for the spoils of victory, no man rejoiced more sincerely in 
the result of that contest; and, until the emanation of the proclamation 
of December, 1832, he had given his hearty approbation, and steady, 
though quiet support, to the administration of Andrew Jackson. 

From that moment he seemed to look with fearful bodings on the 
affairs of his country. His disapprobation of that instrument was ex- 
pressed with as much freedom and force as was consistent with his 
habitual reserve and moderation. He was, indeed, alarmed into a de- 
gree of excitement unusual with him, and might have gone farther 


than he did, had he not found that others were disposed to go, as he 
thought, too far. He had entirely disapproved the nullifying ordinance 
of South Carolina; and, though he recognized the right of secession, 
he deprecated all thought of resorting to that remedy. He was aware 
that many of his best friends, thinking *that its necessity would be 
eventually felt by all, feared that that conviction might come too late. 
They remarked the steady tendency of Federal measures to weaken the 
mal-content States in the South, and to increase the resources of their 
northern oppressors and those of the General Government. Hence 
they feared, that whenever Virginia, or any other of the slave-holding 
States, should find itself driven to secession, the other party, in the 
confidence of superior strength, might be tempted forcibly to resist the 
exercise of the right. They thus arrived at the conclusion that sepa- 
ration (which they deemed inevitable) to be peaceable, must be 

These ideas had been laid before Mr. Trevor, and, in proportion to 
the urgency with which they were pressed, was his alarm and his dis- 
position' to adhere to the Union. He, at last, had brought himself to 
believe union, on any terms, better than disunion, under any circum- 
stances. As the lesser evil, therefore, he determined to forget the 
proclamation, and, striving to reconcile himself to all the acts of the 
administration, he regarded every attempt to unite the South, in sup- 
port of a southern president, as a prelude to the formation of a southern 
confederacy. By consequence, he became a partisan of Martin Van 
Buren; and united with Ritchie, and others of the sariie kidney, in 
endeavoring to subdue the spirit, and tame down the State pride of 
Virginia. These endeavors, aided by the lavish use of federal patron- 
age in the State, were so far successful, that when, at the end of Van 
Buren's second term, he demanded a third election, she alone, in the 
South, supported his pretensions. 

By the steady employment of the same pernicious influences, the 
elections throughout the State had been so regulated, as to produce 
returns of a majority of members devoted to the views of the usurper. 
This had continued until the spring of 1848, at which time the results 
of the elections were essentially the same which had taken place since 
the memorable 1836 : when Virginia, at one stroke of the pen expunged 
her name from the chronicles of honor, expunged the history of all her 
glories, expunged herself. F rom that time the land of Washington, 
and Henry, and Mason, of Jefferson, Madison, and Randolph, sunk to 
the rank of a province, administered and managed by the Riveses and 
Ritchies, the Barbours and Stevensons, the Watkinses and Wilsons, 
whose chance to be remembered in history depends, like that of Eros- 


tratus, on the glories of that temple of liberty which they first desecra- 
ted and then destroyed. 

'• Where once the Csesars dwelt, 

" There dwelt, tuneless, the birds of night." 

From some cause, not understood at the time, an unexpected reaction 
had taken place between the spring elections and the recurrence of that 
form of presidential election in the fall, the observance of which was 
still deemed necessary to display, and, by displaying, to perpetuate the 
usurper's power. This reaction appeared to show itself chiefly in those 
counties heretofore most distinguished for their loyalty. It would have 
seemed as if the spirit of John Kandolph had risen from the sleep of 
death, and walked abroad through the scenes where his youthful shoul- 
ders had received the mantle of his eloquence from the hand of Henry. 
For the first time, in twelve years, the vote of Virginia was recorded 
against the re-election of Martin Van Buren to the presidential throne. 

But not the less subservient were the proceedings of the Legislature 
elected for his use, the spring before. Yet enough had been done to 
justify the hope that the ancient spirit of old Virginia would yet show 
itself in the descendants of the men who had defied Cromwell, in the 
plenitude of his power, and had cast off the yoke of George the Third, 
without waiting for the co-operation of the other colonies. At the 
same time, the power and the will of a fixed majority in the North, to 
give a master to the South, had been made manifest. It was clearly 
seen, too, that he had determined to use the power thus obtained, and 
to administer the government solely with a view to the interest of that 
sectional faction, by which he had been supported. " Vse, victis !" 
"Woe to the vanquished!" was the word. It had gone forth; and 
northern cupidity and northern fanaticism were seen to march, hand in 
hand, to the plunder and desolation of the South. 

Under these circumstances, the southern States had been, at length, 
forced to see that the day for decisive action had arrived. They there- 
fore determined no longer to abide the obligations of a constitution, the 
forms of which alone remained, and having, by a movemeni nearly 
simultaneous, seceded from the Union, they had immediately formed a 
southern confederacy. The suddenness of these measures was less re- 
markable than the prudence with which they had been conducted. 
The two together left little doubt that there had been a preconcert 
among the leading men of the several States, arranging provisionally 
what should be done, whenever circumstances should throw power into 
hands of those whom, at the bidding of the usurper, the people had 



once driven from their councils. It is now known that there was o ^ 1 
concert. Nor was it confined to the seceding States alone. I n " 81D * a ' 
also, there were men who entered into the same views. But while the 
President believed that no decisive step would be taken by the more 
southern States without her co-operation, he had devoted all his power, 
direct and indirect, to control and influence her election. Of tumul- 
tuary insurrection he had no fear. The organized operation of the 
State Government was what he dreaded. By this alone could the 
measure of secession be effected; and this was effectually prevented by 
operating on the elections of members of the Legislature. From the 
November vote on the presidential election, less evil had been appre- 
hended, and less pains had been taken to control it. In consequence of 
this, something more of the real sentiments of the people had been 
allowed to appear on that occasion; and, from this manifestation, the 
more southern States were encouraged to hope for the ultimate accession 
of Virginia to their confederacy. They had therefore determined to 
wait for her no longer, but to proceed to the execution of their plan, 
leaving her to follow. 

The disposition of the usurper, at first, was to treat them as revolted 
provinces; and to take measures for putting down, by force, their resis- 
tance to his authority. But circumstances, to be mentioned hereafter, 
made it impolitic to resort to this measure. But these did not operate 
to prevent him from using the most efficacious means to prevent Vir- 
ginia from following their example. Though restrained from attacking 
them, nothing prevented him from affecting to fear an attack from 
them. This gave a pretext for raising troops; and the position of Vir- 
ginia, as the frontier State, afforded an excuse for stationing them 
within her borders. Under these pretences, small corps were establish- 
ed in many of the disaffected counties. Should the presence of these 
be ineffectual to secure the return of delegates devoted to the crown, 
an ultimate security was taken against the action of the Legislature. 
Richmond, the seat of government, became the head-quarters of the 
army of observation, as it was called, and, surrounded by this, the mock 
deliberations of the General Assembly were to be held. 

The money thus thrown into the country seduced the corrupt, while 
terror subdued the timid. On Mr. Trevor, who was neither, these 
things had a contrary effect. He now, when it was too late, saw and 
lamented the error of his former overcaution. He now began to sus- 
pect that they had been right who had urged him, eighteen years be- 
fore, to lend Ins am in the work of arousing the people to a sense of 
their danger, and preparing them to meet it as one man. 



A sponge that soaks up the King's countenance. 


Among those who had been most prompt to take this view of the 
subject, and most vehement in recommending it, was a younger brother 
of Mr. Trevor. In all, but the great essentials of moral worth, this 
gentleman was the very reverse of his brother. The difference was, 
perhaps, mainly attributable to the character of his intellect. Quick 
in conception, and clear in his views, he was strong in his convictions, 
and habitually satisfied with his conclusions. This, added to a hasty 
temper, gave him the appearance aud character of a man rash, incon- 
siderate, and precipitate, always in advance of the progress of public 
opinion, and too impatient to wait for it. His ill success in life seemed 
to justify this construction. Though eminently gifted by nature, and 
possessing all the advantages of education, he had never occupied any 
of those stations in which distinction is to be gained. In his private 
affairs, he had been alike unprosperous. Though, his habits were not 
expensive, his patrimony had been but little increased by his own ex- 
ertions. He had married a lady of handsome property, but had added 
little to it. With only two daughters, he had not the means of endow- 
ing them with more than a decent competency; while his elder brother, 
with a family of a dozen children, had educated the whole, had provi- 
ded handsomely for such as had set out in life, and retained the where- 
withal to give the rest nearly as much as the children of the younger 
could expect. In short, the career of Mr. Hugh Trevor had been one 
of uninterrupted prosperity. In all his undertakings he had been 
successful. Wealth had flowed into his coffers, and honors had been 
showered on his head. " When the eye saw him, then it blessed him." 
Men pointed him out to their children, and said to them : " Copy his 
example, and follow in his steps." 

The life of Bernard, the younger brother, had been passed in com- 
parative obscurity. Beloved by a few, but misunderstood by many, his 
existence was unknown to the multitude, and unheeded by most who 
were aware of it. They, indeed, who knew him well, saw in him qual- 
ities which, under discreet regulation, might have won for him distinc- 
tion and affluence. None knew him better, and none saw this more 


clearly, than his elder brother. No man gave him m° re ° ve 1 . ov 
, , „ ■. i ~„ OC n«p A habit ot 

talent and honor, or less for prudence and common senst,. ^ 
■. , . , /• , • • • j ^v.^oTnnino' his measures, 

doubting the correctness of his opinions, and condemnm , 

had thus taken possession of the mind of Mr. Hugh Trevor: ana as 
the quick and intuitive Bernard was commonly the first to come to a 
conclusion, the knowledge of that created, in the other, a predisposition 
to arrive at a different result. In proportion as the one was clear, so 
did the other doubt. When the former was ardent, the latter was 
always cold; and in all matters in which they had a common interest 
the cautious foresight of Hugh never failed to see a lion in the path 
which Bernard wished to pursue. They were the opposite poles of the 
same needle. The clear convictions of the latter on the subject of 
secession, had shaken the faith of the former in his own, and had finally 
driven him to the conclusion already intimated, " that union, on any 
terms, was better thin disunion, under any circumstances" 

The same habit of thinking had retarded the change^ which the 
events of the last three years had been working in the mind of Mr. 
Hugh Trevor. His native candor and modesty made it easy for him to 
believe that he had been wrong, and, being convinced of error, to ad- 
mit it. But a corollary from this admission would be, that the incon- 
siderate and imprudent Bernard had, all the time, been right. Of the 
correctness of such an admission Mr. Trevor felt an habitual diffidence, 
that made him among the last to avow a change of opinion which, 
perhaps, commenced in no mind sooner than in his. But the change 
was now complete, and it brought to the conscientious old gentleman a 
conviction that on him, above all men, it was incumbent to spare no 
means in his power to remove the mischiefs of which he felt his own 
supineness to have been in part the cause. 

He was now a private man ; but he had sons. To have given a 
direction to their political course, might not have been difficult. But, 
in the act of repenting an acknowledged error, how could he presume 
so far on his new convictions, as to endeavor to bind them on the minds 
of others? Was it even right to use any portion of his paternal influ- 
ence for the purpose of giving to the future course of his children's 
lives such a tendency as might lead them into error, to the disap- 
pointment of their hopes, and perhaps to crime ? The answer to these 
questions led to a determination to leave them to their own thoughts, 
guided by such lights as circumstances might throw upon these impor- 
tant objects. 

It happened unfortunately, that, about the time of Mr. Van Buren's 
accession to the presidency, his eldest son had just reached that time 
of life when it is necessary to choose a profession. Without any par- 


ticular purpose of devoting him to the army, he had been educated at 
West Point. The favor of President Jackson had offered this advantage, 
which, by the father of so large a family, was not to be declined. But 
the young man acquired a taste for military life, and, as there was no 
man in Virginia whom the new President was more desirous to" bind to 
his service than Mr. Hugh Trevor, his wishes had been ascertained, 
and the ready advancement of his son was the consequence. The pro- 
motion of Owen Trevor had accordingly been hastened by all means 
consistent with the rules of the service. Even these were sometimes 
violated in his favor. In one instance, he had been elevated over the 
head of a senior officer of acknowledged merit. The impatience of this 
gentleman, which tempted him to offer his resignation, had been soothed 
by a staff appointment, accompanied by an understanding that he 
should not, unnecessarily, be placed under the immediate command of 
young Trevor. The latter, at the date of which we speak, had risen to 
the command of a regiment, which was now encamped in the neigh- 
borhood of Washington, in daily expectation of being ordered on ac- 
tive duty. 

Colonel Owen Trevor had received his first impressions on political 
subjects at a time when circumstances made his father anxious to es- 
tablish in his mind a conviction that union was the one thing needful. 
To the maintenance of this he had taught him to devote himself, and, 
overlooking his allegiance to his native State, to consider himself as the 
sworn soldier of the Federal Government. It was certainly not the 
wish of Mr. Trevor to teach his son to regard Virginia merely as a mu- 
nicipal division of a great consolidated empire. But while he taught 
him to act on precepts which seemed drawn from such premises, it was 
natural that the young man should adopt them-. 

He did adopt them. He had learned to deride the idea of State 
sovereignty, and his long residence in the North had given him a dis- 
gust at all that is peculiar in the manners, habits, institutions, and 
character of Virginia. Among his boon companions he had been ac- 
customed to express these sentiments, and, being repeated at court, they 
had made him a favorite there. He had been treated by the President 
with distinguished attention. He seemed honored, too, with the per- 
sonal friendship of that favorite son whom he had elevated to the chief 
command of the army. Him he had consecrated to the purple; proposing 
to cast on him the mantle of his authority, so as to unite, in the person 
of his chosen successor, the whole military and civil power of the em- 

It was impossible that a young man like Col. Trevor should fail to 
feel himself flattered by such notice. He had been thought, when a 


boy, to be warm-hearted and generous, and his devotion to his patrons, 
which was unhounded, was placed to the account of gratitude by his 
friends. .The President, on his part, was anxiously watching for an 
opportunity to reward this personal zeal, which is so strong a recom- 
mendation to the favor of the great. It was intimated to Col. Trevor 
that nothing was wanting to ensure him speedy promotion to the rank 
of Brigadier but some act of service which might be magnified, by a 
pensioned press, into a pretest for advancing him beyond his equals in 
rank. Apprised of this, he burned for active employment, and earn- 
estly begged to be marched to the theatre of war. 

This theatre was in Virginia. But he had long since ceased to at- 
tribute any political personality to the State, and it was a matter of no 
consequence to him that the enemies, against whom he was to act, had 
been born or resided there. Personally, they were strangers to him; 
and he only knew them as men denying the supremacy of the Federal 
Government and hostile to the President and his intended successor. 

One person, indeed, he might possibly meet in arms whom he would 
gladly avoid. His younger brother, Douglas Trevor, had been, like 
himself, educated at West Point, had entered the army, and served 
some years. Having spent a winter at home, it was suspected that he 
had become infected with the treasonable heresies of Southern poli- 
ticians. He had resigned his commission and travelled into South 
Carolina. The effect of this journey on his mind was not a matter of 
doubt. Letters had been received from him by his brother and seve- 
ral young officers of his own regiment, avowing a total change of senti- 
ment. These letters left no doubt that should Virginia declare for se- 
cession, or even in case of collision between the Southern League and 
the old United States, he would be found fighting against the latter. 
The avowal of such sentiments and purposes had so excited the dis- 
pleasure of the Colonel, that he had cut short the correspondence by 
begging that he might never again be reminded that he was the bro- 
ther of a traitor. His letter, to this effect, being laid before the com- 
mander-in-chief, had given the most decisive proof of the zeal of one 
brother and the defection of the other. 

How this had been brought about, Col. Trevor knew not. He was 
not aware of any alteration in his father's sentiments; and, indeed, 
Douglas himself had not been so, at the time when he was awakened to 
a sense of his country's wrongs and his own duty. The change in his 
mind had been wrought by other means; for his father was, at that 
time, doubting, and, with him, to doubt was to be profoundly silent. 



• The boy is grown 

So like your brother that he seems his own. — Ceaeek. 

Difference of political opinion had produced no estrangement be- 
tween Mr. Hugh Trevor and his brother, though it had interrupted 
their intercourse by rendering it less agreeable. Men cannot take 
much pleasure in each other's society when the subject on which both 
think and feel most deeply is one on which they widely differ. They 
accordingly saw little of each other, though an occasional letter passed 
between them in token of unabated affection. 

I believe I have mentioned that the children of Mr. Bernard Trevor 
were both daughters. The eldest, then seventeen years of age, had 
been invited to spend with her uncle, in the vicinity of Richmond, the 
winter of Douglas's furlough. He was at that time about five-and- 
twenty. His long residence in the North had not weaned him from 
his native State. He had not been flattered into a contempt of every- 
thing Virginian. Neither his age nor rank gave him consequence 
enough to be the object of that sort of attention. Perhaps, too, it had 
been seen that he was a less fit subject for it than his elder brother. 
Though much the younger, he had a range, originality, and indepen- 
dence of thought, of which the other was incapable. Resting in the 
esteem of his friends and the approbation of his own conscience,- the 
applause of the multitude, the flattery of sycophants, and the seducin 
attentions of superiors, had small charms for him. His heart had never 
ceased to glow at the name of Virginia, and he returned to her as the 
wanderer should return to the bosom of his home — to his friends— to 
his native land. In appearance, manners, and intelligence, he was 
much "improved; in feeling, the same warm-hearted, generous, unso- 
phisticated youth, as formerly. 

In the meantime, his cousin Delia had already reached his father's 
house, and was domesticated in the family. There she found the 
younger brothers and sisters of Douglas impatiently expecting his ar- 
rival, and so much occupied with the thought of him, that, had she 
been of a jealous disposition, she might have deemed her welcome 
somewhat careless. But she already knew her cousins, her uncle, and 
her aunt. This was not the first time that their house was her tempo- 



rary home, and she had learned to consider herself as one oi leaun y. 
As such, she was expected to enter into all their feelings- Uouglaa 
was their common favorite. During his long absence, Ins heart had 
never cooled toward them. In this he differed widely from Owen, in 
whom the pleasures of an idle life and the schemes of ambition had 
left little thought of the simple joys of his childhood's home. The 
contrast between him and Douglas, in this respect, rendered the latter 
yet more popular with the single-hearted beings who were impatiently 
waiting his return. 

"Do you remember brother Douglas?" said Virginia Trevor, a girl 
one year younger than Delia. " Mamma says you were a great pet 
with him when a child, and used to call him your Douglas." 

" I could not have been more than three years old at the time you 
speak of," said Delia ; " but I have heard of it so often, that I seem to 
myself to remember it. But, of course, I do not remember him." 

" And, of course, he does not remember you," said Mrs. Trevor. 
" At least, he would not know you. But I doubt if he ever has for- 
gotten you, as you were then. He was to be your husband, you know ; 
and your father gave him a set of rules to walk by. He was to do so 
and so, and to be so and so ; and Harry Sanford was to be his model. 
He said nothing about it; but " Sanford and Merton " was hardly ever 
out of his hands, and we could see that he was always trying to square 
his conduct by your father's maxims. I believe in my heart it made a 
difference in the boy; and that is the reason why he is less like his own 
father, and more like yours, than any of the rest of my boys." 

" I shall certainly Jove him, then," said Delia, her eyes filling as she 
spoke, " if he js like my dear old father." 

" Indeed, and you may," said Mrs. Trevor ; " but for all that, I 
would rather have him like his own father. But you must not be af- 
fronted, Delia ; you know I claim the right to brag about my old man, 
and to set him up over everybody — even the President himself." 

" I never saw the President," said Delia, " but I should be sorry to 
compare my father with him." 

" I can assure you," replied the aunt, " there are very few men that 
would bear the comparison. ! he is the most elegant, agreeable old 
gentleman, that ever I saw." 

" Exce P t m y ™cle," said Delia, smiling. 
" ^7 ! Yes > t0 b ° ^re. I always except him." 
1 will not except my / a ^r," said Delia, gravely. « I should not 

« Welled > ^f 11 Van BureD P raised in *c same breath." 
"Well, my dear,' said the good-humored old lady, " we must not 


quarrel about it ; but you must take care not to talk so before Douglas, 
because he is the President's soldier." 

'■ I thought," said Delia, " he was,in the service of the United States." 
" Well ! and is not that all the same thing ? I do not pretend to 
know anything about it ; but my husband says so, and that is enough 
for me." 

Mr. Trevor, who had sat by the while, listening, with grave compla- 
cency, now said : "lam afraid you don't report me truly, my dear." 
Then, extending his hand to Delia, he drew her gently to him, and 
placing her on his knee, kissed her. " You are a good girl," said he, 
" and shall love and honor your father as much as you please. He is a 
noble, generous man, and a wise man, too. I would to God," added 
he, sighing heavilyj " that I had had half his wisdom." 

" Why, bless my soul, Mr. Trevor !" exclaimed his wife, " what does 
this mean ?" 

" Nothing," replied he, " but a just compliment to the self-renoun- 
cing generosity and far-sighted sagacity of my brother." 

Saying this, he rose and left the room, while his wife gazed after him 
in amazement. She had never heard him say so much before, and now 
perceived that he had thoughts that she was not apprised of. Believ- 
ing him faultless and incapable of error, even when he differed from 
himslf, she at once concluded that she bad lost her cue, and deter- 
mined to say no more about politics until she recovered it; but he 
never adverted to the subject again, in her presence, during the whole 
winter, and her niece, consequently, heard no farther allusion to it from 

This was no unwelcome relief to Delia. She was no politician, but 
she was not incapable of understanding what passed in her presence 
on the subject, except when the interlocutors chose, to mystify their 
meaning. Her father, a man of no reserves, never spoke but with a 
purpose of expressing his thoughts clearly and fully; and no man bet- 
ter knew how to express them than he. Though deficient, as I have 
said, in that cold prudence which takes advantage of circumstances, he 
was eminently gifted with that'more vigorous faculty which makes them. 
In the piping times of peace, he was a man of no mark - r but when so- 
ciety was breaking up from its foundations, he was the man with whom 
the timid and doubting would seek safety and counsel: Infirmity had 
now overtaken him, and he could do little more than think and speak. 
Consulted by all the bold spirits who sought to lift up, from the dust, 
the soiled and tattered banner of his native State, and spread it to the 
wind, he never failed to converse freely with such, and often in the 
presence of his daughters. 


By this means, if he had not imbued them with his opinions, or 
charged their minds with the arguments by which he was accustomed 
to support them, he had made them full partakers of his feelings. It 
seemed, indeed, as if he had a purpose in this. What that purpose 
was, time would show. One end, at least, it answered. It increased 
their opinion of his powers, their confidence in his wisdom, and their 
love for his person. Mrs. Hugh Trevor herself did not hold her hus- 
band's wisdom in more reverence than was cherished by Delia for that 

of her father. 

And never did man better deserve the confiding affection of a daugh- 
ter. He had been her principal instructor from infancy. He had 
formed her mind ; he had trained her to self-command, and taught her 
to find her happiness in virtue. Educated at home, -her manners were 
formed in a domestic circle — characterized by refinement, and deli- 
cate but frank propriety. Her love of reading had been cultivated by 
throwing books in her way; and, the taste once formed, her attention 
had been directed to such as might best qualify her for the duties of 
woman's onlv appropriate station. Herein she had an example in her 
mother, a lady of the old school, courteous and gentle, but high-spirit- 
ed, generous, and full of her husband's enthusiasm in the cause of his 
country. Mr. Bernard Trevor was, indeed, a man to be loved passion- 
ately, if loved at all; and to shed the vivid hue of his mind on those of 
his associates. It was the delight of his wife to witness and to cherish 
the dutiful affection and ardent admiration of her daughters for their 
father. The consequence was, that his power over their thoughts, feel- 
ings, and inclinations was unbounded. 

It will be readily believed that, in the mind of Delia Trevor, thus 
pre-occupied, there was no room for any very favorable predispositions 
toward a young man trained from his boyhood in the service of her 
country's oppressors. She had heard his mother speak of him as the. 
sworn soldier of the arch-enemy of her beloved Virginia, and a senti- 
ment of abhorrence arose in her mind at the words ; but she reflected 
that he .was her cousin ; the son of her good uncle ; the brother of her 
dearest friend ; and, trying to remember his fondness for her when a 
child, she chided down the feeling of disgust, as unnatural and wicked. 
But, after all this discipline of her own mind, she found it impossible 
to think of him with complacency, or to anticipate his arrival with 
pleasure. Her imagination always painted him in the hateful dress 
which she had been taught to regard as the badge of slavery — the liv- 
ery of a tyrant. She would try to love him, as a kinsman, but she 
never could like him or respect him. 

At length he made his appearance, and, to her great relief, in the 


plain" attire of a citizen. He was a handsome youth, whose native 
grace had been improved by his military education, and in his man- 
ners uniting the frankness of a boy with the polish and elegance of an 
accomplished gentleman. Whether he had been admonished by his 
father to respecfthe feelings of his fair cousin, or had caught his re- 
serve, on the subject of politics, by contagion, she had no means of 
knowing. Certairi it is, that on that subject he was uniformly silent, 
and Delia soon learned to converse with him on other topics without 
dreading an allusion to that. She thus saw him as he was, and, by de- 
grees, lost the prejudice which, for a time, blinded her to any merit he 
might possess. 

And he did possess great merit. A high sense of honor, strict 
principles, great Openness and generosity, were united in him with 
talents of no common, order. Quick, apprehensive, and clear in his 
perceptions, there was a boldness, vividness, and distinctness in his 
thoughts and language that continually reminded, her of him she most 
loved and honored. Of her father he frequently spoke with great ven- 
eration and affection. He remembered, as his mother had conjectured, 
many of his uncle's precepts. He frequently quoted them as of high 
authority with him ; and it was plain to see that, cherished during four- 
teen years, they had exercised a decided influence in the formation of 
his character. Indeed, it might be .doubted whether his imagination 
had ever dismissed the idea which had first disposed him to lend a 
willing ear to the suggestions of his uncle. That which was sport to 
the elder members of the family, had seemed to him, at the time, a se- 
rious business. The thought that the little girl who loved to hang on 
his neck and kiss him might one day be his wife, had certainly taken. 
possession of his boyish mind. How long he had consciously retained 
it could not be known ; but the traces of it were still there, and were 
certainly not obliterated by the change which time had wrought in his 

Of her personal appearance I have said nothing. Were I writing a 
novel, I should be bound, by all precedent, to give an exact account of De- 
lia's whole exterior. Her person, her countenance, her hair, her eyes, 
her complexion, should all be described, and the whole summed up in 
a tout ensemble of surpassing beauty. But, in this true history, I am 
unfortunately bound down by facts, and I lament, that f to the best of 
my recollection, I shall not have occasion to speak of a .single female, 
in the progress of my narrative, whose beauty can be made a theme of 
just praise. I do sincerely lament this; for such is the constitution of 
human nature, that female beauty influences the heart "and mind of 
man, even by report. We read, in Oriental tales, of great princes 


deeply enamored of descriptions. The grey eyes of Queen Elizabeth 
have always made her unpopular with the youthful reader; and the 
beauty of Mary of Scotland, three hundred years after the worms had 
eaten her, still continues to gild her history and gloss over her crimes. 
I can say nothing so much in' favour of the beauty of Delia Trevor, as 
that she was good and intelligent, reminding the reader of the sage 
adage of Mrs, Dorothy Primrose, to wit: "Handsome is, that handsome 
does." I can only add, that, when I saw her afterwards hanging on 
the arm of Douglas, and looking up in his face with all the deep and 
heartfelt devotion of a woman's love, I saw enough of the constituents 
of beauty to make her an object of love, and enough of the soul of 
truth and tenderness to make her seem transcendently beautiful in the 
eyes of a lover. • 

I say this, to account for the fact that her cousin Douglas soon found 
himself taking great pleasure in her society, and anxious to please her, 
not more from dutywthan inclination. He was, perhaps, chiefly attract- 
ed by her conversation, which was always cheerful, sprightly, and in- 
telligent. He may have yielded to a spell of hardly less magic than 
that of beauty; the spell of a voice melodious, distinct, articulate, and f 
.richly flexible, varying its tones unconsciously with every change and 
grade of thought or feeling. It may have been the effect of what JJy- 
ron would call "blind contact," and the sage Mrs. Broadhurst "propin- 
quity;" or it may have been that his hour was come. If one in ten of 
my married friends can tell exactly how lie came to fall in love with 
his wife, I shall hold myself bound to inquire farther into this matter. 

But I do not mean to intimate that Lieutenant Trevor, turning his 
back on the belles of Boston and New York, and Philadelphia, and 
Baltimore, and Washington, came home, and tumbled forthwith into love 
with a plain country girl, just because she was his cousin, and he had 
loved her when a child. I do not mean to say he was in love with her 
at all. He had a sincere affection for her; he liked her conversation; 
he admired her talents much, and her virtues more. He liked very 
much to be with her, and was very much with her. 

What came of this, the reader shall be told when we have 'disposed 
of some matters of higher concernment. 



Jfero fiddled while Rome was burning. 

Douglas Trevor reached his father's house just after the "Virginia 
Legislature had assembled. The presidential election was just over, 
and the partisans of Van Buren, exulting in their success, made their 
leader the more hateful to his opponents *by the insolence of their tri- 
umph. Though .he had lost the vote of .Virginia, it will be remember- 
ed that he still commanded a majority in the Legislature, elected be- 
fore the revolution in public" sentiment was complete. The more recent 
expression of public sentiment showed that the time was come when 
power must be held by means far different from those by which it had 
been acquired.^ Opinion, which at first had been in their favor, was 
now against them. Corruption had for a time supplied the place; but 
the fund of corruption was all insufficient to buy off the important in- 
terests which were now roused to defend themselves. To add to its ef- 
ficiency by all practicable means, and to bring to its aid the arm of 
force, was all that remained. 

To organize measures for this purpose, and to enrich themselves from 
the profuse disbursement of public money, which formed a part of the 
plan of operations, were the great objects which engased the* minds- of 
the majority in the Virginia Legislature. But these, important as they 
were, could not entirely wean them from those indulgencies wMch, for 
many years, had made Richmond, during the winter season, the scene 
of so much revel and debauchery. To these, as well as to personal in- 
trigues and the great interests of the faction, much time was given. 
But the necessity of attending especially to the latter was- made daily 
more apparent by the startling intelligence which every mail brought 
from the South and Southwest. The nearly simultaneous secession of 
the States in that quarter, and the measures to be taken for the forma- 
tion of a southern confederacy, were things which had been, talked of 
until. they were no longer dreaded. But causes had gradually wrought 
their necess; ry effects, and the ultimate cooperation of Virginia, if left 
to act freely, was now sure. 

I have already spoken of those men, in each of the southern States, 
of cool heads, long views, and gtout haarts, who, watching the progress 


of events, had clearly seen the point to which they tended. It is not 
here that their names and deeds are to be registered. They are already 
recorded in history, and blazoned on the tomb of that hateful tyranny 
which they overthrew. They had been discarded from the service of 
the people, so long as the popularity of the President had blinded the 
multitude to his usurpations. The oppressions of the northern faction, 
and the fierce assaults of rapacity and fanaticism, hounded on by ambi- 
tion to the destructiun of the South, had restored them to public favor. 
They had seen that secession must cOme, and that, come when it might, 
their influence would be proportioned to their past disgraces, presum- 
ing on this, they had consulted much together. Not only had they 
sketched provisionally the plan of a southern confederacy, but they had 
taken measures to regulate«their relations with foreign powers. One of 
their number, travelling abroad, had been instructed to prepay the way 
for the negotiation of a commercial treaty with great Britain. One of 
the first acts of the new confederacy was to invest him publicly with 
the diplomatic character, and it was at once understood that commercial 
arrangements would be made, the value of which would secure to the 
infant League all the advantages of an alliance with that powerful na- 
tion. The designation of a gentleman, as minister, who had so long, 
without any ostensible motive, resided near the Court of St. James, left 
no doubt that all things had been already arranged. The treaty soon 
after promulgated, therefore, surprised nobody, except indeed that some 
of its details were too obviously beneficial to both parties to have been 
expected. Not only in war, but in peace, do nations seem to think it 
less important to do good to themselves than to do harm to each other. 
The system of free trade now established, which has restored to the 
South the full benefit of its natural advantages, and made it once more 
the rtost flourishing and prosperous country on earth; which has mul- 
tiplied the manufactories of Great Britain, and increased her revenue 
by an increase of consumption and resources, even while some branches 
of revenue were cut off; and which, at the same time, has broken the 
power of her envious rival in the North, and put an end for ever to 
that artificial prosperity engendered by the oppression and plunder of 
the southern States; is such an anomaly in modern diplomacy, that the 
rulers at Richmond, or even at Washington, might well have been sur- 
prised at it. But the bare nomination of the plenipotentiary was 
enough to leave no doubt that a treaty was ready for promulgation, and 
that its terms must be such as to secure the cooperation of Great Bri- 

But, while the leaders of the ruling faction thought of these things, 
and anxiously consulted for the preservation of their power, there was 


still found among the members of the Legislature the ordinary propor- 
tion of men who think of nothing but the enjoyment of the present 
moment. Such men are often like sailors in a storm, who, becoming 
desperate, break into the spirit room, and drink the more eagerly be- 
cause they drink fb» the last time. When the devil's " time is short, 
he has gre'at wrath;" and this point in his character he always display's, 
whether he exhibits himself in the form of cruelty, rapacity, or de- 

The amusements, therefore, of the legislators assembled at Rich- 
mond suffered little interruption, and the dinner and the galas^ the ball 
and the theatre, and the gaming-table, with revel, dissipation, and ex- 
travagance, consumed the time of the servants of the country, and 
swallowed up the wasted plunder of the treasury. 

Respected by all, beloved by individuals of both parties, and courted 
by that to which he was supposed to belong, Mr. Hugh Trevor was an 
object of the most flattening attention. His house was the favorite 
resort of such as enjoyed the envied privilege of the entree. His gal- 
lant and ascdmplished son was the glass before which aspirant for court 
favor dressed themselves. The budding youth of his daughter had, 
for years, been watched with impatient anticipation of the time when 
her hand might be seized as the passport^ to present wealth and future 

Her cousin Delia was not recommended to notice by all these con- 
siderations; but the most prevailing of the whole was one that made 
her claims to attention fully equal to those of Virginia. Her father, 
though in comparatively humble circumstances, could give -with his 
daughter a handsomer dowry than the elder and wealthier brother 
could afford with his. He was notorious for generosity, and his in- 
firmities made "it probable that he was not long for this world. Delia 
was therefore universally regarded as an heiress. Add to this, that in 
the affection of her uncle she seemed hardly to be postponed to his 
own daughter, and it was obvious to anticipate that the same influence 
which had procured ofhce and emolument for himself and his sons, 
would be readily exerted in favor of her future husband. 

It followed, that, whatever were the amusements of the day, whether 
ball or theatre, or party of pleasure by land or by water, the presence 
of Delia and Virginia was eagerly sought. The latter, simple and art- 
less, saw in all who approached her the friends of her father. If she 
thought at all of political differences, it was only to recognize in most 
of them the adherents of the man to whose fortunes he had so long 
attached himself, and in whose fortunes he had flourished. To all, her 
welcome was alike cordial and her smile always bright. 


With Delia, the case was far different. Much more conversant than 
her cousin with the politics of the day, she was aware that her father 
was obnoxious to many that she met. On some of those who sought 
her favor, she knew that he looked with detestation and scorn. To* 
Buch she was as cold and repulsive as a real lady can ever permit her- 
self to be to one who approaches her as a gentleman in genteel society. 
The height of the modern mode would, indeed, have countenanced in 
such cases that sort of negative insolence, the practice of which is re- 
garded as the most decisive indication of high breeding. But she had 
been trailed in a different school. She had been taught that, in society, 
self-respect is the first duty of woman ; and that the only inviolable safe- 
guard for that, is a care never to offend the self-respect of others. 

Thus, while a part of those who approached her, were made to feel 
that their attentions were not acceptable, she never afforded them oc- 
casion to complain of any want of courtesy on her part. Without 
being rebuffed, they felt themselves constrained to stand aloof. There 
was nothing of which they could complain ; no pretext for resentment 
— no opening for sarcasm — no material for scandal. 

But in proportion to the impotence of malice, so is the malignity of 
its hoarded venom. All were aware of the political opinions and con- 
nexions of Mr. Bernard Trevor; and it was easy to make remarks in 
the presence of his daughter, not only offensive, but painful to her 
feelings.. To this purpose, no allusion to him was necessary. It was 
enough to speak injuriously of those whom she knew to be his friends, 
and whose public characters made them legitimate subjects of applause 
or censure. By this, and other means of the like character, she Was 
always open to annoyance; and to such' means "the dastard insolence of 
those whom her coldness had repelled, habitually resorted for revenge. 
On such occasions she frequently found that her cousin Douglas came 
to her aid. Unrestrained by the consideration that imposed silence on 
her, he was always ready to speak on behalf of the party attacked. If 
he could not directly vindicate, he would palliate or excuse. If even 
this were inconsistent with his own opinions, he would take occasion to 
speak approvingly of the talents or private worth of those who were 
assailed. Whether she regarded this as a proof of good breeding, or 
of kindness to herself, or of an incipient change in hi» opinions, such 
conduct always commanded her gratitude and approbation. 



He was, in logic, a great critic, 

Profoundly skilled in analytic. 

He could distinguish and divide 

A hair, 'twixt south and southwest side. 


Among those who had thus manifested a disposition to win the favor 
of Delia Trevor, was a young man who had, not long since, entered 
public life under the auspices of a father, who, fifteen years before, had 
openly bartered his principles for office. Besides some talent, the son 
possessed the yet higher merit, in the eyes of his superiors, of devotion 
to his party and its leader. He never permitted himself to be re- 
strained, by any regard to time or place, from making his zeal con- 
spicuous. Taught, from his infancy, that the true way to recommend 
his pretensions was to rate them highly himself, he seemed determined 
never to exchange his . place in the Legislature for any in the gift of 
the Court, unless some distinguished" station should be offered to his 
acceptance. For any such, in any department, he was understood to 
be a candidate. 

At first, he supposed that a private intimation to this effect, through 
his father, would be all sufficient. But he was overlooked, and post 
after post, that he would gladly have accepted, was conferred on others. 
Fearful that he might be deemed deficient in zeal, he redoubled his 
diligence, and with increased eagerness sought every opportunity to 
display his talents and his ardor in the service of his master. Still he 
seemed no nearer to his object. Whether it was thought that he was 
most serviceable in his actual station, or that the wily President deemed 
it a needless waste of patronage to buy what was his by hereditary title 
and gratuitous devotion, it is hard to say. The gentleman sometimes 
seemed on thqj)oint of becoming malcontent; but his father, who had 
trained him in the school of Sir Pertinax McSycophant, convinced him 
that more was to be got by " booing," and resolute subserviency and 
flattery of the great, than in any other way. Under such impressions, 
he would kindle anew the fervor of his zeal and send up his incense in 
clouds. Again disappointed, and sickening into the moroseness of hope 


deferred/he would become moody and reserved, as if watching for am- 
opportunity of profitable 'defection. 

Such an opportunity, at such a moment, had seemed to present itself 
in his acquaintance with Delia Trevor. A connection with her seemed 
exactly suited to his interested and ambidextrous policy. A handsome 
and amiable girl were items in the account of secondary consideration. 
But her fortune was not to be overlooked. Then, should his services, 
at length, seem like to' meet their long deserved reward, she could be 
presented at court as the niece of Mr. Hugh Trevor, the tried and 
cherished friend of" the President. Should the cold ingratitude of his 
superiors at length drive him into the opposition for advancement, he 
was sure of being well received as the son-in-law of a patriot so devoted 
as Mr. Bernard Trevor. Utrinque paratus, could he secure the hand 
of JDelia, he felt sure that he must win, let the cards fall as they 

Having taken this view of the subject, and examined it in all its 
bearings, he made up to Delia with a directness which startled, and a 
confidence that offended her. But the gentleman had little to recom- 
mend him to the favor of the fair. His person was awkward, and dis- 
figured by a mortal stoop. His features, at once diminutive and irregu- 
lar, were either shrouded with an expression of solemn importance, or 
set off by a smile of yet more offensive self-complaceney. His manners 
bore the same general character of conceit, alternately pert and grave j 
and his conversation wavered between resolute, though abortive, at- 
tempts at wit, and a sort of chopt logic, elaborately employed in prov- 
ing, by incontestible arguments, what nobody ever pretended to deny. 
He had been taught, by his learned and astute father, to lay his foun- 
dations so deep that his arguments and the patience of his hearers were 
apt to be exhausted by the time he got back to the surface of things. 
Tet he reasoned with great precision, and rarely failed to establish, as 
unquestionable, the jwemises from which-other men commonly begin to 

This talent, and this use of it, are more applauded by the world than 
one would think. Men like to be confirmed in their opinions ; and, 
the fewer and more- simple these may be, the more grateful are they for 
any thing that looks like a demonstration at their truth. To a man 
whose knowledge of arithmetic only ^extends to the profound maxim 
" that two and two make four," how gratifying to find a distinguished 
man condescending to prove it by elaborate argument ! 

But ladies .have little taste for these things, and still less for the 
harsh dogmatism and fierce denunciations of hostile, but absent politi- 
cians, with which Mr. P, Baker, the younger, occasionally, varied his 


discourse. To Delia, therefore, the gentleman, in and of himself, and 
aprrt from all extrinsic considerations, was absolutely disagreeable. His 
first advances drove her within the safe defences of female pride and 
reserve. But when the manifest audacity of his pretensions led her 
to think of him as the supple slave of power, as one who had prostitu- 
ted himself to the service of his master, with an eagerness which con- 
demned his zeal to be its own reward, her disgust increased to loath- 
ing, and her pride was kindled into resentment. Without showing 
more of these feelings than .became her, she showed enough to make 
her the object of his insolent and malignant hatred. But she was for- 
tified by her position in a family which hie dared not offend, and his 
paltry malice found vent in such allusions to the politics of the day as 
he knew must wound her. 

Things were about coming to this pass, when Douglas Trevor ar- 
rived. The first time he met Mr. Baker in company with his cousin, 
he saw a disposition on his part to pay attentions which were obviously 
annoying to her. Both duty and inclination impelled him to come to 
her relief; and, in doing this, he awakened the jealousy and incurred 
the displeasure of the gentleman. But these were feelings he had no 
mind to display toward one who wore a sword, and especially toward 
the son of a man so influential at Washington as Mr. Hugh Trevor. 
He accordingly drew, off, in morose discomfiture, and Delia, relieved 
from, his offensive attentions, felt that she owed her deliverance to her 
cousin. He was, of course, bound to occupy the place at her side from 
which he had driven Baker; and she was bound to requite the service 
by making the duty he had imposed on himself as little irksome as 
possible. She exerted herself to be agreeable, and succeeded so well, 
that Douglas went to bed that night in the firm belief that he had 
never passed a more pleasant evening, or seen a girl of more charming 
manners than Delia. 

This circumstance led to a.sort of tacit convention, which established 
him in the character of her special attendant, in all parties where Mr. 
Baker made his, appearance. By an easy progress, this engagement 
was extended to all societies and all places. He knows little of human 
nature who needs to be told the natural consequences of these 

But, leaving the reader to form his own judgment, and to anticipate 
'such result as he may, my present business is with the repulsed and 
irritated Baker. Though it consoled his pride and self-love to impute 
his discomfitures, not to any absolute dislike of himself, but to a prefer- 
ence for another, there was nothing in that preference to soothe his re- 
sentment. As Douglas had, in the first instance, come somewhat cava- 


lierly between him and the object of his wishes, he, perhaps, had rea- 
sonable grounds of displeasure against him. But, as it might be quite 
iuconvenient to give vent to his feelings in that direction, they were 
carefully repressed. In such assaults on those of the lady, as her cou- 
sin might not observe, or might think it unwise to notice, did his malice 
indulge itself. 

So matters stood when the astounding intelligence" reached Rich- 
mond, that a diplomatic agent from the State of South Carolina had 
been long secretly entertained' at the Court of St. James, and that he 
was supposed to have negotiated ah informal arrangement for a com- 
mercial treaty between that government and the confederacy then form- 
ing in the South. Something was rumored as to the terms of the con- 
templated treaty, which filled the whole northern faction in Virginia 
with consternation. It was feared that that State could not be with- 
held from joining the Southern League, except by force, and that, in 
a contest of force, she would be backed, not only by the Southern 
States, but by the power of Great Britain. 



" If I had known he- had been so cunning of fence, I'd have seen him 
damned ere I had fought with him." — Old Play. 

It was now the month of February, and a pleasant day had tempted 
our young people to a jaunt of amusement to the head of the falls. 
Mr. Ba*ker, stealing away from his duties as a legislator, was one of the 
party. Repulsed by Delia, he was beginning an attempt on the heart 
of Virginia, of whose loyalty, as. the daughter of Mr. Hugh Trevor, he 
could entertain no doubt. 

Here his reception Would have been little better than with the other, 
had not Virginia been held in check by a respect for the supposed 
opinions of her father. Born at the very moment when the good old 
gentleman was in the act of making up his mind to sacrifice the sover- 
eignty of his native State to the necessity of preserving the Union, he 
seemed to seize on the opportunity of compensating the impiety to 
which he felt himself driven, by giving to his infant daughter the 
name he had so long cherished and honored. It was a moment of one 
of those relentings of the heart, in which nature asserts her suprema- 
cy, and compels its homage to those whom we have been accustomed to 
reverence and obey. If even the prodigal or the traitor be subject to 
be so affected, how much stronger must be such an impulse in the mind 
of a pure and upright man, impelled by a sense of duty to his coun- 
try to dishonor her venerated name. This poor tribute was as the kiss 
of peace with which the executioner implores the pardon of some illus- 
trious" victim of State' policy, who is about to bleed under his hand. 
Had he yielded to his feelings, he would have taken up the self-accu- 
sing lamentation of the returning prodigal.)' But his sense of duty was 
deep and abiding, and was always most sure to command his exact obe- 
dience when the duty was most painful. He could not doubt the cor- 
rectness of a conviction, which even his cherished devotion to his na- 
tive State could not made him shake off entirely. In such a case, to 
doubt was, with him, to be convinced. 

But the name thus bestowed upon his daughter was not without an 
effect, on her mind. She knew little of politics, but, from her very 
infancy, self-love had made her jealous of the honor of the State whose 
name she bore. The name itself was a spell of power on the heart of 


Delia. It had disposed her to love her cousin before she knew her. 
It had drawn them together on their first acquaintance, and, had often 
been the theme of conversation between them. Somewhat elder, and 
much the superior in intellectual power, Delia had, unwittingly, exer- 
cised an influence over the mind of Virginia which inclined her to lis- 
ten favorably to all that could be urged against the usurper's claim to a 
dominion, unchecked by the authority of the StatQ. 
" For more tkan a year past, Mr. Trevor had himself begun to doubt 
the wisdom of his former opinions. Doubting, he was silent, but he 
had not been unwilling to subject his daughter to the action of her 
cousin's more vigorous mind. For many years, he would as soon have 
exposed his children to the contagion of the plague, as permit them to 
visit their uncle. Dunns the last summer he had suffered Arthur and 
Virginia to spend a month with him ; and he was not sorry to observe 
that the former came home with deeper thoughts than he chose to ex- 
press. Of their love and admiration of their uncle neither made any 
secret. He was not only unlike their father, but so unlike any other 
man, that he had been a curious study to them during their whole visit. 
The originality of his thoughts, and the vividness with which he ex- 
pressed them, afforded them constant amusement. He had that faculty 
of making truth look like truth, in the exhibition of which the young 
mind so much delights. Then he was so frank, so ardent, and withal 
so kind, that it was impossible to know and not to love him. 

After all this, the reader will not be. like to partake of the surprise 
of Mr. Philip Baker, when he found, on shifting his battery, that he 
was not much more in favor with Virginia Trevor than with her con- 
sin. The consequence was, that whenever he attempted, in company, 
to attach himself to the immediate party of these young ladies, he was 
apt to find himself a supernumerary. But, as Virginia had shown no 
marked dislike to him, his vanity easily adopted the ?dea that she con- 
sidered him as the property of Delia. He took some pains to unde- 
ceive her, and would have been mortified at her unconcern on the oc- 
casion, had he not thought some allowance should be made for her in- 
difference to a man who did but take her as apis alter. He did not, 
therefore, at once withdraw himself from their coterie, but continued 
to hang about, and take his part in conversation, whenever nothing par- 
ticularly exclusive in the manner of the interlocutors forbade it. He 
could not come between whispers ; but he could answer any observation 
that met his ear. Being, as I have said, something between a proser 
and a declaimer, he thought himself eloquent, and would seize occa- 
sions to hold forth to the general edification, in a style intended to daz- 
zle the bystanders. 


On the day of which we speak, he had been in close attendance on 
Virginia, until, rather by address than by direct repulse, she had con- 
trived to shake him off. It so Happened" that the rest of the company 
were all paired off, leaving him in the enviable condition of a half 
pair of shears, when relief appeared in the person of a gentleman just 
from Richmond. >, 

This gentleman, originally one of the devisers of the pic nic, had 
staid behind for the mail, and now arrived with the news alluded to in 
the last chapter. Baker, being disengaged at the moment, was the 
fi ; rst to receive the intelligence, and he lost no time in awakening the 
attention of the company by volleys of oaths and imprecations. While 
he continued »o exercise himself in calling down the vengeanco of 
if the Eternal," according to the most approved formula of the old 
court,, or ' those whom he denounced as traitors, the rest listened ia 
amazement, disgust, or alaim, to this boisterous effusion of his rage. 
At length, as he stopped to take breath, Douglas availed himself of 
the pause to ask what wa£ the matter. The whole story now came out, 
and Mr. Baker, having put his audience in possession of the text, went 
on with his discourse. Unmindful of the presence of the ladies, he 
vented his wrath in language with which I do not choose to stain my 
paper. Every man who had held a conspicuous place among the advo- 
cates of State rights for the last twenty "years, was condemned, ex cathe- 
dra. The dead were especially recommended to the tender mercies of 
the devil, in whose clutches he supposed them to be; while the living 
were indiscriminately devoted to the same doom. 

Against the person by whom the treaty was said to have been nego- 
tiated, his wr.ath burned most fiercely. In the midst of one of his 
most savage denunciations of that gentleman, he happened to recollect 
having heard Delia speak of him as the intimate friend of her father. 
The thought turned his eye upon her. She was already pale and 
trembling with emotion, when she caught his insulting glance. In an 
instant the blood gushed to her face, and tears to her eyes. He saw 
it, and went on to comprehend in his denunciations all the aiders, abet- 
tors, and friends of .the traitor, whom in one breath he devoted to the 

This was more than Delia could bear, and more than Douglas was 
disposed to suffer. He had caught the glance which Baker had cast 
at his cousin ; he siw the effect on her feelings ; he witnessed her in- 
creasing emotion, and felt it his duty to come to her relief. He ap- 
proached Baker, and passing him, as if with no particular design, 
touched him gently, and said in a low voice — " Such language is im- 
proper in this company." 


■" How so," exclaimed Baker, aloud. " I hope there is no man here 
disposed to take the part of a traitor." 

Douglas turned, and. bitiifg his lip, said in a tone not loud, but from 
its distinctness and marked emphasis, audible to all present: << I spoke 
so as to be heard by none but you, and invited you by a sign to go 
apart where I might explain my meaning in private. But, as you will 
have the explanation here, I say," that you know there is no man here 
disposed to take the part of a traitor. If you had thought there was, 
sir, I suspect your denunciations would have been less violent." 

"I.don't understand you, sir," said Baker, reddening. 

" My meaning is as plain as becomes this presence," said Douglas, 
coldly, and again walking away. Baker looked around, and read in 
every eye that he was expected to follow. He did so, and joining 
Douglas, they both walked on together. 

" I shall be glad to receive a farther explanation, sir," aaid he in an 
agitated tone. 

" Speak lower, then," replied Douglas, calmly, slipping his arm 
within that of Baker; "and use no gesture. My meaning is this — 
That he who is regardless of the presence and feelings of a lady, is not 
apt to overlook those of a man. To make my meaning yet plainer, 
sir, your language would have been more guarded, had my uncle been 
represented here, not by a daughter, but by a son." 

The quiet tone of Douglas's voice, the equivocal meaning of the first 
words he had uttered, and the pacific action intended to deceive those 
who looked on, had calmed for a moment the alarm of Baker. He 
had recovered himself before he was made to perceive what was really 
meant ; and ere he had time to reflect on his. situation, the dangerous 
temptation of a repartee assailed him. Glancing back at the company, 
he said — " If I may judge by appearances, sir, you have the right aa 
well as the inclination to assume that character." 

Douglas had turned his head, instinctively, as Baker looked back, 
and saw that they had rounded a point of rock, and were out of sight. 
In an instant, he disengaged his arm with a push that nearly threw 
the legislator down the bank, and stepping back, glared upon him with 
an eye that instantly brought the other to his senses. While he stood 
blenching and cowering under this fierce glance, Douglas recovered 
his self-command, and said, with stern calmness — " You had nearly 
made me forget myself, sir. But we understand each other now 
Take a turn along the shore to compose yourself. I will wait here for 
you, and we will return to the company together " 

He seated himself on a rock, and the other obeyed mechanically. 
How he succeeded in recovering his composure is another affair. He 


walked on, and on, and fain would he have followed the course of the 
river to the mountain cave from which it. issues, there to hide himself 
from the consequences of his own folly and impertinence. What 
would he not have given to recall that last speech? Until then, he 
was the party aggrieved. Douglas's offence against him had not been 
so gross as to admit of no explanation; and, to all appearance, an ami- 
cable one had been given. The truth might not have come out until 
he had bad time to escape to his constituents ; and before the next ses- 
sion the affair might have been forgotten. But now, Douglas had been 
insujted, and how he felt, and how he would resent the insult, was aw- 
fully certain. 

Baker continued his walk so fai\ that the girls became uneasy at the 
absence of the two young men. They begged some of the gentlemen 
to go in quest of them, but the request was evaded. At last, they rose 
from their seats on the rocks, and declared they would themselves go. 
They accordingly set out, followed, by the rest, and in a, few yards came 
to where Douglas was quietly seated on a fiat stone, and playing checks 
with pebbles on the smooth sand. 

" Where is Mr. Baker 1" exclaimed Virginia, eagerly. 

" .Yonder he goes," replied Douglas, calmly. " He has a mind for 
a longer walk than I like; and I am just waiting for him here. But 
I must not detain you, girls. 'His taste for the picturesque will proba- 
bly be satisfied by the time we get- to our horses, and he will soon over- 
take us." 

He said this with an air so careless as to deceive every person pres- 
ent but Delia. But the. heart will speak from the eye, and a glance at 
her, as she searched his countenance, unconsciously said : " I have re- 
dressed you." Coloring deeply, she strove to hide her emotion — taking 
his arm and busying herself at the same time with the adjustment of 
her veil. In spite of, some undefined apprehensions, she was grateful, 
relieved, and pleased ; and a slight pressure on the arm she held, spoke 
her feelings perhaps as distinctly as they were understood by herself. 

Douglas returned the pressure with more energy. The words of 
Baker yet tingled in his ears ; and while they burned with the insult, 
the pain was more than soothed by the thoughts they had awakened. 
Were then the day-dreams of his boyhood to become realities ? He 
was ngt, as yet, conscious of any but a cousin's love for Delia. Hff 
could impute no other feeling to her. But should this mutual affection, 
ripen into a more tender sentiment ! With whom could a man pass his- 
days morehappily, than with a woman so intelligent, so amiable, so 
prudent, so much a lady ? He did not love her. But he felt that to 
love her, and be beloved by her, would be a happy lot. The slight 


weight she rested on his arm was sweet to him. He wished the pres- 
sure was heavier. But she walked on, self-poised, and with a light and 
steady step over the rugged ground. Was not that step more confident, 
because she felt that he was there to aid her in case of need ? Even 
so, she seemed sufficient for herself in the resources of her own mind. 
Yet had she needed and accepted, arid gratefully, though silently, ac- 
knowledged his protection. He was happy in having had occasion to 
protect her. Was not she the happier for it too ? The heart will ask 
questions. Time gives the answer. 



Oh ! speak it not ! 

Let silence be the tribute of your homage! 
The mute respect, that gives not woman's name 
To the rude breatR, which, trumpeting her praises, 
Taints by applauding. Anonymous. 

A few days after, Douglas handed his cousin the following paper : 

" Mr. Baker begs leave to throw himself on the mercy of Miss 
Delia Trevor. He confesses his offence against her on Saturday last»J 
He admits, with shame, that he did intend to wound her feelings, and 
that he has nothing to offer in extenuation of his offence. He does 
not even presume to ask a pardon, which he acknowledges to be un. 
merited, and respectfully tenders the only atonement in his power, by 
assuring Miss Trevor that he will never again, intentionally, offend her 
by his presence. 

Signed, Philip Barker." 

Delia read this curious document in silence, and, on looking up, 
found that Douglas had left the room. She ran after him, but he was 
gone, and for a day or two avoided any opportunity for farther explana- 
tion. At length she found one, and asked by what means the paper 
fiad been procured. 

" By proper means, my dear coz," said he, " if the paper is a proper 

'•' Proper !" exclaimed she, " for me to receive, certainly! But for 
him to give I Indeed, I pity any poor wretch who can be so abject. I 
am glad, at least, I am to see him no more. I should find it hard to 
behave to him as becomes myself!" 

" It would be hard," said Douglas, " but as you always will behave 
as becomes yourself, hard though it be, it was right you should be 
spared the trial." 

" This is your doing then ?" said she. 

" No questions, coz," replied Douglas. " I must behave as becomes 
me too." 

This put an effectual stop to farther inquiry, and the slight conceal- 
ment did but deepen Delia's sense of the service Douglas had rendered 
' 4 


her. While she admired the delicacy which, At once,, veiled and 
adorned his chivalrous character ; he, on his part felt greater pleasure 
at having redressed her wrong, because the affair had taken such a turn 
as to conceal the part that he had acted. The ties thus formed in 
secret, are doubly sacred and doubly sweet. The heart involuntarily 
classes them wit* those chaste mysteries which the vulgar eye must not 
profane. They become the theme of thoughts which sometimes rise 
up, and kindle the cheek, and light the eye, and then sink down again 
and hide themselves deep in the silent breast. 

But this privacy was destined to be invaded by one person, at least; 
and that, the very one from whom Douglas would most anxiously have 
concealed the whole affair. Yet was there no person to whose tSnder- 
ness, delicacy, and affection for both parties, it could have been more 
fitly confided. In short, Mr. Trevor, one day, placedSin the hands of 
his son a letter, in the President's own hand-writing, of which the fol- 
lowing is a copy : 

.Washington, March 3d, 1849. 

My dear sir : I hasten to lay before you a piece of information 
which touches you nearly. Though I receive it at the hands of one 
who has the highest claims to my confidence, I yet trust it will prove to 
have originated in mistake. 

It is said that your son, Lieutenant Trevor, on receiving the news of. 
the late treasonable proceedings of some of the southern States, openly 
vindicated them ; and that he spoke freely in defence of the principal 
agent in their most wicked Attempt to league themselves with the ene- 
mies of their country. It is said, moreover, that, in doing this, he in- 
sulted and fastened a quarrel on one, whom I have great reason to* 
esteem for his uniform devotion to the Union. The regular course for 
such a charge against an officer, holding a commission in the army of 
the United States, is one which I would not willingly pursue, in the 
case of the son of one of my earliest and most cherished friends. As 
Lieutenant Trevor is now at home, on furlough, I address this letter to 
you, to be laid before him. I have no doubt he will readily give the 
necessary explanations, and, in so. doing, afford me a new occasion for 
displaying that regard for you and yours, with which I am, 
Dear sir, your friend, 

Martin Van Buren. 

" Can you tell me what this means ?" said the mild old gentleman to 
his son. 
" As I remember," replied Douglas, " the circumstances under which 


I heard of the events alluded to, I think, I can give a guess, at the 
meaning. It means that my cousin was insulted, in my presence, and 
that I protected her, as was my duty." 

" And how .does it happen that I never heard of it ? Who was the 
person, and what has become of the affair t" 

"It has all blown over," said Douglas, "and I had hardly expected 
it would ever be spoken of "again. Delia alone knew of it from me, as 
it was right she should. I have never mentioned, nor lias my friend. 
I am sure she has not; and what the other party can promise himself 
from the exposure, I am sure I cannot tell." 

" The thing is .now made public, at all events; and both as jour 
father and as the friend of the President, it is right that I should know 
'all about it." 

" Certainly, sir," replied Douglas, " you shall know all ; and when 
you do, I need not explain why I have never told you before." 

He left the room", and soon returned with a bundle of papers. From 
this he handed one to his father, which proved to be a challenge, in 
the most approved form, from him, the said Douglas Trevor, to Philip 
Baker, Esq. Then came a proposition to discuss from the other party ; 
then aflat demand of apology, or the* alternative of, what is called, 
gentlemanly satisfaction ; then an offer to apologize ; then the paper we 
have already seen ; and then the following : 

" Philip Baker declares, on his honor, that he meant no offence to 
Lieutenant Trevor by any words' addressed to him on Saturday last ; 
and that he deeply regrets having spoken any which may have sounded 
offensively in the ears of Lieutenant Trevor." 

" This will do," said Mr. Trevor. " It only shows that you have 
acted as became a soldier and a gentleman. These papers show clearly 
that the quarrel began in an insult to your cousin, which you were 
biJund to resent. This will be perfectly satisfactory to the President." 
* "Doubtless it would be," said Douglas, promptly; " but so much of 
the affair as implicates my cousin's name must go no father." 

" But it is that," replied Mr. Trevor, " which shows the cause of the 
quarrel. The other papers only show that you fancied an intention to 
insult where none existed. This would tally too well with what the 
President has heard." 

" Be is so," answered Douglas, calmly. " If the President is never 
satisfied till I furnish a paper which is to blend my cousin's name with 
a public discussion, he must remain dissatisfied. I cannot help it. 
Better to have suffered the insult to pass unnoticed, than to make a 
lady's name the theme of guard-house wit." 

" Bless you, my noble boy," said the admiring father. " You are 


right, and there is no help for it. But what shall I say to the Presi- 

" What you please. The conclusions you draw from what you know, 
he is welcome to. The facts are with you." 

" Certainly," said Mr. Trevor, after a musing: pause ; " certainly he 
will trust in my general assurance that his information is, to my cer- 
tain knowledge, erroneous. This will do. It must be sufficient." 

" It must do," said Douglas, " whether it will or no. In the mean 
time, my dear sir, let me beg that the affair may go no farther, even in 
the family. Delia alone knows of it, and she only knows as much as 
may be gathered from that paper, a duplicate of which is htfr's by 
right. I therefore beg that you will say nothing about it, even to her." 

And he did say nothing to her; but Douglas observed, that that* 
night, when she held up her lip for his paternal kiss, the kind old gen- 
tleman gave it with more than his usual tenderness. He held her off, 
parted the hair from her forehead, gazed earnestly and affectionately 
upon her • and then, kissing her again, bad God bless her, in a voice 
choked with emotion. From that moment, she was to him as a daugh- 



That proud humility — that dignified obedience. — Bukke. 

The visit of Delia to her uncle now drew to a close, and she prepar- 
ed for her return home. It was settled that she should be accompanied 
by Douglas, Arthur, and Virginia,.who were to spend a few weeks with 
her father. 

On the road, Douglas felt more and more the duty and* the privilege 
of being the protector of his cousin, and, by the time. they rea'ched the 
end of their journey, he had discovered that the latter was as precious 
as the former was sacred. Some such thought had stolen into his mind 
while he was yet at home, but that was not the place to mention the- 
subject to her; and he had determined to impose upon himself the 
most scrupulous restraint, until he should have restored her honorably 
to her father's arms. 

Two days travel brought them to the residence of Mr. Bernard Tre- 
vor, on the banks of the Eoanoke. They found him laid up with a fit 
of the gout, which^ while it confined him to the house, produced its 
usual salutary effect on his general health. At the sight of his daugh- 
ter and her companions, his pain was, for the moment, forgotten ; and, 
flinging away his flannels and crutches, he sprung to his feet and caught 
her in his arms. At the same time, Arthur and Virginia pressed for- 
ward for their welcome, which they, in their turn, received. 

Unfortunately, Mr. Trevor was not the only one who forgot himself 
at the sight of Delia. Poor old Carlo, starting from his slumbers on 
the hearth-jug, had recognized his young mistress, and was manifesting 
his joy at her return with boisterous fondness, when one of his feet sa- 
luted the inflamed toe of his master. In an agony, which none bufe 
they who have felt it can conceive, the old gentleman sunk into hia 
chair. Here he remained for some minutes, unconscious of everything 
but his sufferings, while the soft hand of his daughter replaced and 
soothed the tortured limb. 

At lengthy recovering enough to look around him, his eye fell on 
Douglas, who stood aloof, waiting to be introduced. Some little tag of 
military foppery, which tilways clings to the undress of an officer, satis- 
fied Mr. Trevor who he was. Stretching out his hand, he ^aid: "Ah-' 
Douglas, my dear boy ! How glad I am to see you ! But I ought not 



to have recognized you, you dog! standing back therewith your hat 
under your arm, as if waiting your turn of presentation at a levee. 
Perhaps you don't remember me. I certainly should not have known 
you, but for the circumstances under which I see you. But what of 
that? Was is not yesterday you were sitting on my knee, and hanging 
about my neck? Yes, it was yesterday; though we have both dreamed a 
great deal since. But dreams must give way to realities; so let us vote 
it yesterday, and meet to-day as we parted last night." 

This singular accoste had the desired effect, and Douglas felt, at once, 
as if he had been with his uncle all his life. 

"You forget, my dear sir," said he, "that I was intercepted by one 
whose privilege, I am sure, you would not have me dispute, though he 
has abused it so cruelly." 

" You Tnean the dog?" said Mr. Trevor. "Poor old Carlo! Come 
to your master, my poor fellow! No; your privilege shall never be in- 
vaded. We are both past service now, and must learn to sympathize 
with each other. If you cannot understand the nature of a' gouty toe, 
I hope I shall always have heart enough to understand yours. Give me 
a rough coat, or a black skin, for a true friend; one that will not grudge 
any superior advantages that I may possess. Tom," added he, in a 
tone of marked gentleness, the fire is low. No, not yourself, old man/' 
he continued, as the negro whom he addressed moved toward the door; 
"not you, my good old friend. Just ring the bell, and let one of those, 
lazy dogs in the kitchen bring in some wood. But why don't you speak 
to your master Douglas ? I am sure you remember what cronies you 
were, when you were teaching him to ride." 

" I'm mighty proud to see you, sir," said the old man, taking the of- 
fered hand of Douglas, with an air of affectionate humility. "But it 
was not my place, sir," added _he, answering his master's words, "to 
speak first. I made sure master Douglas would remember me after a 

* I crave the forbearance of alt critics, who have taken their ideas of a Vir- 
ginia house-servant from Csesar Thompson, or any such caricatures, for giving 
Tom's own words, and his own pronunciation of them. It is not my fault if 
there is but little peculiarity in his phraseology. His language was never ele- 
gant, and frequently ungrammatical. But he spoke better than the peasantry 
of most countries, though he said some things that a white man would not 
say; perhaps, because he had some feelings to which the white man is a 
stranger. A white man, for example, would have said he was glad to see 
Douglas, whether he were so or not. Old Tom said he was proud to see him, 
because he was proud to recognize his former pet in the handsome and grace- 
ful youth before him. 


"I do remember you, Tom," said Douglas, cordially, "and many a 
time, on parade, have I been thankful to you for teaching me to hold 
my reins and manage my horse." 

"You will find it hard," said Mr. Trevor, gravely, "to convince Tom 
thaj you remember him, if you call him by .that name. Tom is Delia's 
daddy, and Lucia's, and Arthur's, and Virginia's, daddy, and so will be 
to the day of his death. If ever he ceases to be your daddy, too, Doug- 
las, I shall move to reconsider the vote that we just now passed unani- 

" It is a vice the northern air has blown upon me," said Douglas, 
blushing. "I felt the truth of what you said just now, and am not 
more sure of being affectionately remembered by any that I used to 
know, than by my good old daddy." , 

Mr. Trevor now requested Tom to see that the horses of the travel- 
lers were properly attended to; and the negro left the room. 

" What a graceful and gentlemanly old man I" said Douglas, looking 
after him. 

"His manners," said Mr. Trevor, "are exactly suited to his situation. 
Their characteristic is proud humility. The opposite is servile sulki- 
ness, of which, I suspect, Douglas, you have seen no little." 

"I have seen nothing else," said Douglas, "among the servants in 
the North. If the tempers of our negroes were as ferocious, and their 
feelings as hostile, we should have to cut their throats in self-defence 
in six months." 

" I a.n glad," said Mr, Trevor, " that you have not learned to sacri- 
fice your own experience to the fanciful theories of the Amu de Noirs, 
at least on this point. The time, I hope, will come when you will see, 
if you do not already, the fallacy of all their cant and sophistry on the 
subject of domestic slavery. You will then blessJ3od that your lot has 
been cast where the freedom of all, who, in the economy of Providence, 
are capable of freedom, is rendered practicable by the particular form 
in which the subordination of those who must be slaves is cast." 

"I am not sure," said Douglas, "that I exactly comprehend you." 

" Perhaps not," replied the uncle. " And that reminds me that I am 
trespassing on forbidden ground. Just there, the differences of opinion 
between your father and myself commence; and from that point they 
diverge so much, that I do not feel at liberty to speak to his son on cer- 
tain topics." 

"But why not, my dear sir? You surely cannot expect me to think 
with my father on all subjects ; and you would not have me do so, when 
you thought him wrong. I do not profess to be deeply studied in these 


matters; but, between your lights and bis, I might hope to find my way 
to the truth." 

"There are some subjects, Douglas," replied Mr. Trevor, with solem- 
nity, "on which it is better to be in error than^to differ, totally and con- 
scientiously, from a father. Delia is but a girl; but should she have 
come back to me changed in her sentiments ^opinions she cannot have; 
in regard to certain matters, T should feel that I had been greViously 
wronged by any one who had wrought the change. I know yo-ir father 
has not done this; and I must do as I would be done by, and as I am 
sure I have been done by." 

"I cannot conceive," said Douglas, "what sort of subjects those can. 
be, concerning which error in opinion is better than truth, under any 
circumstances." /* 

"Those," replied Mr. Trevor,' "in which truth would bring duty in 
conflict with duty." 

"Nay, then," said Douglas, "there is no danger of my conversion in 
such cases. I should take that as an infallible proof that doctrines 
leading to such consequences must be false." 

"Your proposed test of truth is so specious," observed Mr. Trevor, 
"that I will go so far as to say one word to convince you of its fallacy. 
If ever I take you in hand, my lad, my first lesson will be to teach you 
to examine plausibilities closely, and to distrust summary and simple 
arguments on topics about which men differ." 

"Does any one, then, maintain," asked Douglas, "that two opinions 
which impose conflicting duties can both be right?" 

"I shall not answer that," answered Mr. Trevor. "You shall answer 
it yourself. You are a soldier of the United States. Suppose an in- 
surrection. What, in that case, would be your duty?" 

" To fight against the rebels," replied Douglas, promptly. 

" And, thinking as you do, so it would be. Now, suppose your father 
to be one of those same rebels." 

" I see," said Douglas, after a pause, in which he colored to the tips 
of his ears, " I see that you are right." 

" In what 1" asked Mr! Trevor. 

" In maintaining," he replied, " that two opinions which prescribe 
conflicting duties, may both be right." 

" But I have not said so," replied Mr. Trevor, smiling. 

" But you have proved it." 

" I am not quite sure of that. Here is another summary and simple 
looking argument, on a difficult question. My own rule is, 'distrust 
and re-examine.' " 


He stopped short, while Douglas looked at him with a perplexed and 
wondering eye. He at length went on — " I 'fehall not break faith with 
your father by teaching you to think. You have the propositions — ■ 
and you see there is fallacy somewhere. m Analyse the subject, and find 
your own result. But come, my boy — this is poor entertainment for a 
hungry traveller. Your aunt has some dinner for you by this time, 
and here is Tom come to tell us so. Come, give me your arm, and help 
me to the dining room." 

" My dear father," said Delia, " that is my office." 

" Both ! both ! my children !" exclaimed the . old man, throwing 
away his other crutch. " Why,*now I am better off than a man with 
sound limbs." "■ 

In the dining room Mrs. Trevor awaited them. A hasty greeting 
was all she had allowed herself on the first arrival of the party ; after 
which, she betook herself to the duties of housewifery and hospitality. 
They found her standing at the back of her chair ; and Douglas, as he 
entered, thought he had rarely seen a more striking figure. She was 
matronly in her dress and air; tall, majestic, and grace/ul in her per- 
son ; and with a countenance beatning with frankness, animation and 
intelligence.* She had been a beautiful woman, and, being much 
younger than her husband, was still handsome. She extended her 
hand to Douglas as he entered, and placing him near her, so mingled 
the courtesy due to a stranger with the cordiality of an old acquaint- 
ance, as to make him feel all the comfort and ease of home, without 
ever losing a sense of that bland influence, which, while it secures de- 
corum, imposes no constraint. 

" Would you have known me ?" asked the lady. 

" I cannot say [ could have identified you," he replied, " but I should 
have recognized you as one I ought to know." 

" And your uncle ?" 

" Not by sight, certainly," said Douglas. " I remember him too dis- 
tinctly for that. He is too much altered. But I know him by his 
manners and conversation. These I never could forget; and these are 
the same, and peculiarly his own. I remember how he used to exer- 
cise my mind, and make me talk, and yet never let me talk without 

"And has he been at. the old game already?" 

" 0, yes ! He has set me to revising and doubting what have seemed 
to me to be self-evident truths, and proposes to leave me to work out 
the problem 'by myself. What conclusion I. am to settle in, I cannot 
guesg; but, from present appearances, I shall not be surprise^ if I go 


away convinced that I have seven fingers on one hand, and but two on 
the other — nine in all." 

"He has not touched on politics ?" 

" 0, no ! That subject he.has tabooed, and I am truly sorry for it; 
for while I never desire to waver in my allegiance to the United States, 
I am anxious to understand what may become me as a Virginian. If 
I may judge from what my father says, there is n,o man from whom I 
could learn more on that subject than my uncle." 

" His lesson would not be a short one," replied the lady. " His 
commandments on behalf of the State are only second in authority 
with him to the decalogue; and they 'do not lie in as small a compass. 
But he fears he might, teach you some things your father would wish 
you to unlearn." 

"lam not so sure of that," answered Douglas. "I meant .to say 
that there is no man whose judgment my father holds in higher 

" That is something new," said Mrs., Trevor, coloring, and with a, 
counteuance to which there was some expression of wounded pride. I 
should 'be glad to be convinced of that." 

" Why should you doubt it ?" added the young man, with surprise. 

" Because it has not always been so ; and, as I claim a woman's 
privilege to admire my husband above all men, I have felt hurt at it. 
Your uncle thinks so highly of his brother's wisdom and prudence, 
that he has always borne to be thought the reverse of him in these 
things, and quietly submitted to be condemned as a heretic on account 
of opinions, of the correctness of which he found it impossible to 

"There may have been something of this," said Douglas, earnestly; 
" but I assure you it is not so now. I do believe one motive with my 
father for wishing me to make this visit, is his desire that 1 should 
hear both sides; and have the benefit of the sagacity and manly sense 
whieh he imputes to my uncle." 

" He will have to tell him so plainly," replied Mrs. Trevor, " before 
he will open his mouth to you. But I shall be less scrupulous — and I 
am in daily expectation of a friend whose frankness will leave you no 
cause to regret your uncle's reserve." 

" Who is that V asked Douglas. 

" I shall leave you to find out. You will see many here who feel 
and think with your uncle, and who come to him to compare thoughts 
and concert measures. Among them is the man on whom the desti- 
nies of his country depend." 


" The only man "of whom I should predicate that," replied Douglas, 
with some quickness, " is one who, I am very sure, never comes here/' 

"There is a good and an evil principle," said Mrs. Trevor. "Events 
alike depend on both. You speak of the one of these — / of the 

Douglas felt his cheek burn at this remark. His aunt, ob#rving it, 
added — " You see, you will run the risk of adopting dangerous here- 
sies if you encourage us to be too unreserved. But your candor and 
good sense may be trusted to lead you right, without our guidance." 

Douglas felt the truth of the first part of this speech. Whether any 
thing more than a complimentary turn of expression was meant in the 
closing. words, .he did not know. 'But if the lady intended to express 
a hope that he, might become a convert to the disorganizing notions 
which he feared were prevalent In her circle, he took the liberty to 
doubt whether her anticipations would ever be realized. He now 
changed the conversation, and determined to take a second thought 
before he iavited discussions which might mislead him. He found he 
had to do with active and vigorous minds, against which he might, 
perhaps, vainly strive to defend himself, even with truth on his side. 
He resolved, therefore, to yield to the inclination which l'ed him to pass 
his time with his. young friends, and chiefly with Delia. 



My Jieart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre ; 
I'll bear thee hence, and let th<fm fight -that will, 
For I have murdered where I would not kill. 


I should detain the reader with matters not worthy of a place in 
this grave history, if I descended to the particulars of the intercourse 
between Douglas Trevor and his charming cousin. It is enoufh*to 
say, that he found himself, daily, more and mort happy in her society; 
and was more and more convinced that it was a necessary ingredient 
in his happiness. It was not long before he concluded that he would 
not live without her; and, having told her so, was referre'd by her to 
her father. 

Nothing doubting that his communication would be favorably re- 
ceived, Douglas was eager to break the matter to his uncle, and ask his 
approbation of his suit. To his utter amazement, the old gentleman, 
assuming an air at once serious and tender, said : " My dear boy, had I 
the world to choose from, there is no man to whom I would sooner trust 
my daughter's happiness. But circumstances forbid your union. I 
speak advisedly and sadly. I have seen what was passing: I antici- 
pated this communication, and deliberately decided on my answer." 

"For God's sake, sir!" exclaimed Douglas, trembling with im- 
patience, " what do you mean ; and what is your answer ?" 

" I mean," said Mr. Trevor, " and my answer is, that circumstances 
forbid it." 

" Surely," said Douglas, "your objection is not to the nearness of 

" I am not addicted to any such exploded superstition," said Mr. 
Trevor. " But my daughter must never marry one that wears that 

" I like my profession, sir," said Douglas, but will change it without 

" God forbid !" replied the old gdhtleman. " I would' not 'have you 
do so; and were you so inclined, it would not be in your choice." 

" I can resign when I will, and my resignation will certainly be ac- 


" Still ypu would be a soldier, and you must be a soldier. Peace is 
not in our choice, and the time is at hand when every man, who can 
wield a sword, must do so." 

" I do not understand you, sir," said Douglas in amazement. 

" I am aware you do not. It is time you sMbuld. You have now a 
right. to understand me; and I have a right to be understood by you. 
We are on the eve of what you will call- rebellion. I shall call it a 
war of right and liberty. I am old and infirm; but I am not al- 
ways imprisoned by the gout; and nothing but physical inability 
shall keep "me from sustaining, with my sword, a cause that I have 
always advocated with tongue and pen. It will be bad' enough .to 
meet the sons of my brother in arms against my country. That I can- 
not help. But it is in my choice whether I shall thus meet my 
daughter's husband. That must never be." 

He ceased to speak, and the young man, dizzy with mixed thoughts 
and feelings, sat gazing at him in mute astonishment. At length, start- 
ing up, he was about to leave the room, when the old gentleman held 
out his hand! Douglas gave his, and his uncle, pressing it cordially, 
went on: "My son," said he, "you are the only male of my race in 
whom I recognize any thing which tells me that the same blood flows 
in our veins. "We cannot help the selfishness that disposes us to love 
those who resemble us even in our faults. It might be better for you 
not to resemble me, and perhaps I ought to wish that you did not. But 
I cannot. I find it easier to forget that \ou are'not my son, and to 
love you, as if you were. The hope that you may yet be so, is hardly 
less dear to me than to you. That you will be so, if ' you outlive the 
envy' of those awful events which shall open your eyes, I can hardly 
doubt. But these things must do their work. The convictions which 
shall make you throw off the badges of allegiance to him whose 
sworn foe I am, must come of themselves. While you wear them, I 
am bound to respect your honor by saying nothing to shake your faith 
in him, and to his cause. In the mean time, I can bub hope for the 
best. I do hope ; and I invite you to hope. But for the present, hope 
must be our all. Things must remain as they are until it pleases God 
so to order events as to make your sense of 'duty to your country con- 
sistent with that which, as my daugh-er's husband, you will owe to her 
and to her father." 

I leave the reader to imagine- the consternation of Douglas at this 
decisive condemnation of his proposed plan of happiness, and at the 
astounding intelligence that accompanied it. He saw plainly that his 
uncle spoke not Conjecturally, but from certain knowledge; and he was 
sure, that under such circumstances, no attachment could tempt Delia 


to marry him. He did not therefore attempt to continue the diseussion 
of the subject, but left the house and wandered into the fields. 

The tumult of his mind rendered him incapable of reflection. I 
shall' not attempt to analyze the chaos of his thoughts. But light, not 
darkness, floated on the*surface. The hand of Delia was indeed with- 
held for a season, but he was not forbidden to hope, that it might one 
day or other be his. Should it even be true that rebellion was awake, 
and that civil war was at hand, he was not told that fidelity to his 
standard would be imputed to him as a crime. The strife must end 
one way or the other, and that being past, he would no longer be con- 
demned to the hard alternative of relinquishing the object of his most 
ardent wish, or exhibiting the shocking spectacle of a husband warring 
against the father of his wife. 

But what was to be done in the mean time ? Should the old gen- 
tleman take the field, he must find some other theatre of action, and 
his father's influence with the President would readily procure him 
that indulgence. As to the idea of renouncing what he had been 
taught to call his allegiance to the Federal Government, and aiding to 
maintain the dishonored sovereignty of his native State, it did not 
enter his mind. Yet there was something in its workings that sud- 
denly awakened an undefined interest in the late correspondence between 
his father and the President. He no sooner thought of this, than his 
restless wanderings received a definite direction to the neighboring 

He there found a letter from his father, containing little more than 

the copy of one from the President. Its contents were as follows: 

• . 

"Washington, March 20, 1849. 

" My dear sir : Your letter has been received, and, to me,, is en- 
tirely satisfactory. But I regrdt to inform you that, to those friends 
whom I feel myself bound to consult, it is not so. Such of them, in- 
deed, as are acquainted with your high character, do not intimate a 
doubt that a full explanation of the affair would entirely justify your 
assurance that I have been misinformed. 

" But they remind me that my information comes from a source 
entitled to all respect and confidence, and that, by making thus light 
of it, I may estrange a friend, whom they regard as hardly less 
valuable and meritorious than him wljose feelings I wish to save. They 
represent, moreover, that the affair is bruited in the army, and that 
some officers are malcontent at the thought that a charge so serious 
should be passed over without enquiry, on the bare assurance of a 
father's confidence in the innocence of his son. 


"Under these circumstances, should Lieutenant Trevor not demand 
a court of inquiry, I am fearful I may be constrained, against my wish, 
to order a court-martial. Need I tell you, my dear sir, how earnestly I 
deprecate the necessity of a measure, which must so nearly touch one 
to whose friendship I feel so much indebted, and whose loyalty to the 
Union and its officers has always been so conspicuous and steady. 
" I remain, my dear sir, 

" Your assured friend, 

"M. V B." 

To this* copy Mr. Trevor added these words : 

" The discretion, good sense, and proper feeling you have already 
manifested in this affair, have been so conspicuous,- that I choose rather 
to trust its future conduct entirely to yourself than to embarrass you 
by any advice of mine. Yet, there is one persqn, my dear boy, with 
whom I would have you to advise. Your uncle has been a soldier in 
his youth, and is profoundly versed in all matters of military etiquette. 
He is, moreover, a clear-sighted and sagacious man, who will, at once, 
see. this matter in all its bearings and relations to other subjects. Ilia 
views are not only, in general, mor.e comprehensive than mine, but I 
suspect he is, at this moment, aware of considerations which might 
properly influence you, and which are- hidden from me. I know his 
guarded and delicate reserve, in all his communications with my chil- 
dren, where he apprehends a difference of opinion between himself and 
me. Tell him that he has my thanks for it; but that I shall be yet 
more obliged, if, in this instance, he will. cast it aside entirely, and 
give you the benefit of all his thoughts, as if you were his oum son. I 
fear my last days may be spent in bitter regrets that I myself have not 
heretofore made more avail of them." • 




It is enough to grieve the heart 

To think that God's fair world hath been 

The footstool of a thing so mean. Byron. 

The evening was far advanced when Douglas again reached his 
uncle's house. He went immediately to his room, and sent to request 
a private interview with Mr. Trevor. He was accordingly invited into 
the little study of the old gentleman, where he commonly sat surround- 
ed by books and papers. On entering the room, he observed an el- 
derly gentleman, whom he had never seen before, pass out at a door 
communicating with the drawing-room. 

Douglas now silently handed his father's letter to his uncle. Mr. 
Trevor readmit attentively, and again and again looked over it, restmg 
his eye on particular passages, as if to possess himself of the full mean- 
ing of every expression. The subject was in itself interesting, and. 
quite new to him. But he felt a yet deeper interest in the obscure in- 
timations of a change in his brother's mind in regard to those matters 
about which they had so long and so painfully differed. Even if he 
was mistaken in this, it was consoling to find^ himself rising in the esti- 
mation of Mr. Hugh Trevor ; no longer regarded by him as rash, reck- 
less, and inconsiderate, but consulted as a " clear-sighted and sagacious 
man" in an affair of very great importance. He alone-, who has been 
conscious of being thus undervalued by a friend at once beloved and 
respected, can estimate the satisfaction which Mr. Trevor felt at that 
moment. If there was any mixture of alloy with . this pleasure, it 
flowed from self-reproach. He had sometimes found it impossible to 
repress some little risings of resentment at finding his judgment ha- 
bitually disabled by his elder brother. He had, indeed, been once a 
little white-headed boy, when the other was a highly intelligent ; and 
promising youth. But at sixty he was not quite content to be still 
looked on as a child. Yet, when he remarked the candor of his bro- 
ther's language, and the self-abasing sadness of his tone, he was 'vexed 
to think that one unkind thought toward him had ever entered his 

At length, he interrupted this train of thought to ask of Douglas an 
explanation of the President's letter. In answer, he received a de- 


tailed account of the scene at the falls, and was permitted to read the 
correspondence which had grown oufcof it. 

" I have heard something of this before," said Mr. Trevor. " Delia 
told me all that passed in her presence, and showed me Baker's pali- 
node, which is rather the most extraordinary document that I ever saw. 
Why, the dog acknowledges that he actually intended to insult a lady. 
He might, at least, have had the grace to lie about it. False shame is 
better than no shame at all." 

" lie would have been glad to put the matter on that footing," said 
Douglas, " could he have got' leave to do so. He sent me such a paper 
as you suppose, but I refused to receive it. His apology to me I krrew 
to be false. It was, therefore, the more satisfactory because" the more 
humiliating. But I sent him word that I would not take anything to 
my cousin but the truth. Here," continued Douglas, " is his favstprajet 
of an apology, and of my rejection of it." 

Mr. Trevor read them, and then said : " This is well. I knew you 
had acted handsomely, but how handsomely, I had not conceived of.' 
But let me hear^I pray you,*hbw all this" has been tortured into an of- 
fence against majesty." 

Douglas colored slightly at the word, and handed his uncle a copy of 
the President's first letter to his father. He had but to add an account 
of hia subsequent conversation with his father, and Mr. Trevor was in 
possession of the whole affair. » 

"You see," said Douglas, " that I am referred to you for advice, and 
that you are invited to say to me, unreservedly, what you will." 

" I do see," replied Mr. Trevor, " that I h^ve carte blanche, as far 
as depends on your father ; but there are some things I would now say 
to his son, which it would not be proper to sa y to a soldier of the United 
States. I cannot, therefore, discard all reserve, but all that he has 
ever imposed on me I now shake off. Indeed, I should have done this 
now, without his permission. You are my son as well as his. You 
have shown that you know how to protect my daughter, and have fairly 
earned a right to protect her through life. Nay, no raptures, no thanks. 
The exercise of this right must be. postponed until affairs have taken a 
different shape from that they bear at present. But, .revmons a nos 
moutdns ! The question is, what you are to do to save this despicable, 
heartless wretch, from the necessity, of offending a wretch even baser 
than himself, whom -even he despises." * 

"Whom do you mean ?" asked Douglas. 

" I mean," replied the other, " the President andthe. elder Bnker, 
that tame slave of .power, that shameless, mercenary pander, who, hav- 


ing both talent and reputation, sold the one and sacrificed the other for 
office and infamy." 

" And is it for such a man," exclaimed Douglas, " that I am required. 
to make disclosures before a court of inquiry, or a court-martial, which 
delicacy and self-respect forbid ? Never! Be the alternative what it 
may, I shall never consent to it." 

" You are right, my son," said Mr. Trevor, " nor can I relieve you 
from the difficulty by authorizing the profanation of my daughter's 
name, to which such an investigation would lead. My duty on that 
head is peremptory, not discretionary. If your father were anything* 
but the perfect gentleman he is, I might suspect that his reference to 
me, was intended to elicit some such suggestion. But I know him bet- 
ter. I infer from his letter more than you discover there ; and I am 
not sure that the advice which I am most disposed to give', is that 
which he would be best pleased to. see you follow." 

" What would that advice' be ?" asked Douglas, anxiously. 
■ " Nay," replied the old gentleman^ l - 1 when I have made up my mind, 
you shall know." # 

" But why not give me your thoughts," said the youth, "'and let us 
discuss them ?" 

"Because, circumstanced as you are, we cannot pro'perly discuss 
them. I can but give you my judgment, when I have formed it, and 
leave you to find out-reftsons for it." •« 

" My own first thought," said Douglas, "is to resign. Let us dis- 
cuss that." 

" It was mine too," said the uncle, " and there is therefore no occa- 
sion to discuss it. Though I had not sufficiently matured my opinion 
to announce it to you, I think I may promise that if you come to that 
conclusion, I shall not dissent from it." 

" The only difficulty that I see in the way," said Douglas, " is that 
an offer to resign is, under such circumstances, generally understood as 
a shrinking from inquiry." 

" It is so ; and the opinion is so far right, that when the charge is 
infamous, resignation doubles the infamy. It is a tacit consent to be 
infamous, only on condition that one majf be safe." 

" You state the point with startling force," said the youth ; " and 
how would you distinguish this case from the. one you suppose ?" 

"By distinguishing the accusation from one of falsehood, peculation, 
or cowardice. Should you plead guilty to such charge's as these, or 
seek to evade them by resignation, you stand dishonored. But read 
over the President's bill of indictment. Now suppose it true that you 


had entertained and avowed the sentiments there imputed to you, 
would there be any dishonor in that ?" 

" Certainly not ; unless my being an officer of the United States 
would make a difference." 

" Should that prevent you from thinking, or take away a freeman's 
right to express his thoughts ?" 

"It would seem not. But does it not make some difference ?" 

"Certainly. Shall I tell you what it is ? Such sentiments' wouM 
make it your duty (not to the United States, hut to Virginia and to 
yourself,) to resign. Now, it is because I have no mind to sedfl&e a 
soldier from his standard, that I have been careful not to infuse such 
sentiments into you. If once you lay aside the panoply of the Ainiform, 
and throw away the amulet of the commission, I would not ensure you 
against opinions which you may have to maintain at the hazard or your 
life. But time presses: Your own suggestion disposes me to speak 
wore promptly and decidedly than I should otherwise have done. I 
therefore say, tender your resignation. But, if you have no objection, 
I should -like to consult a friend, on whose most hasty opinions I rely 
more than on the coolest judgment of others." 

"If you mean my aunt," said Douglas, " I know few persons on 
whose instinctive sense of propriety I should place more reliance." 

" She would well deserve your confidence ; but I mean the gentle- 
man who left the room as you entered. He has been her friend for 
thirty years, and mine ftr more than half that time." 

"But to me," said Douglas, "he is an utter stranger, and I feel some 
delicacy in consulting a stranger on such an occasion." 

"You forget," said Mr. Trevor, " that all there is of delicacy in the 
case touches me as nearly as you. It is not you, a stranger, but I, an 
intimate friend, who propose to ask his advice. Charge that matter to 
my account, then, and merely decide for yourself, whether it may not 
be desirable to have the. counsel of one as remarkable for scrupulous 
delicacy, as for sagacity and resource V 

" There can be but one answer to that question," replied Douglas,, 
" and I shall therefore gladly take the benefit of his advice." 

The hand-bell sounded, and the ever ready Tom appeared. "My 
respects to Mr. B — ," said Mr. Trevor. " Ask him, if he pleases, to 
walk into this room." 

Tom disappeared, and soon returned, marshalling in Mr. B — . He 
was a man apparently of sixty years of age, or more, slightly formed, 
but tall, erect, clean-limbed, and sinewy. His vigor seemed little* im- 
paired by time, though his highland strong features made him look at 
least as old he was. A light blue eye, clear and sparkling, quick in its 



glance, but settled and searching in its gaze, was the striking feature of 
his face. The sun had burned out all traces of his original complexion, 
and a silyer hue had usurped the color of his hair. His whole appear- 
ance was imposing, and while it commanded the respect due to the wisdom 
of age, seemed to claim no pity for its infirmities. To this sentiment, 
which enters so largely into the composition of that character which the 
world calls venerable, he certainly made no pretensions. No one would 
have called Aim venerable, though no man was held in higher veneration 
by those who knew him. 



I had not loved thee, dear, so much, 

Loved I not honor more. Lovelacb. 

The frankness and cordiality of his manner, when introduced to 
Pouglas, gave assurance that he took a great interest in the young man, 
tvho felt, on his part, that he was in the presence of a man of no com- 
mon mould, and that in that man he had"found an efficient friend. 

" And now, Tom," said Mr. Trevor, " pass the word for coffee . and 
privacy in this room." 

Tom bowed and withdrew, and Mr. Trevor, without preface or 
apology, proceeded to lay the case before his friend. This he did with 
great precision of statement, while the, other listened with an air which 
showed that no word was lost on him. Having got through, Mr. Tre- 
vor added : " We^iow wish you to advise what should be done in this 

" Resign, by all means," said Mr. B — . " Resign immediately !" 

" Your reasons ?" asked Mr. Trevor. 

" There are plenty of them, of which you are aware," said B — and 
with which our young friend shall be made acquainted after resig- 
nation, not before. But there are others which may be spoken of now. 
The alternative is a court of inquiry, a court-martial, or resignation. 
To the two first the same objection applies. Your nephew cannot ex- 
pect any satisfactory result from either, but by fhe use of means which, 
I am sure, his delicacy would not permit him to use — I mean the pub- 
lic use of a lady's name. Some people have a taste for that, and in 
other parts of the world it is all the rage. I thank, God that the fash- 
ion has not reached us. A woman, exposed to notoriety, learns to bear 
and then to love it. When she gets to that, she should go N orth ; 
write books; patronize abolition societies, or keep a boarding-school. 
She is no longer fit to be the wife of a Virginia gentleman. But there 
is no need to say this. You, Trevor, were your nephew so inclined, 
would never permit -the name of your daughter to be thus profaned." 

" I could oppose nothing to it," said Mr. Trevor, " but my displea- 
sure. And though I might not wish "it, could I have a right to be dis- 
pleased with Douglas for vindicating himself from a charge which has 
grown out of his gallant defence of her ? Think of the favorable stand- 


ing of his family; observe the rapid promotion of his brother; and 
consider whether a punctilio of this sort should bind him to renounce 
prospects so flattering?" 

"Were the prospect more flattering than you state it," said B — , " it 
would not change my opinion. But .what prospect is there ? Colonel 
Trevor is perhaps a favorite at court. So, doubtless, is your brother ; 
but he is not a man whose fidelity is either to be bought or rewarded ; 
and he and his will be, at any moment, postponed and sacrified-to the 
mercenary, who might desert and even mutiny for want of pay. Here 
is proof of it. 

" Look at the shallow pretext for this proposed court-martial. The 
President is pleased to say that he believes your brother ; but that 
there are those who do not. Who are they ? Who can they be ? Who 
is there, worthy to be accounted among his advisers, that can disbe- 
lieve anything that Hugh Trevor shall assert? Don't you see 'the 
cheat?. Don't you see that your brother, whose attachment to the 
Union, based as it is on principle, maybe safely trusted, is to have his feel- 
ings wounded to gratify the mojtified pride of the elder Baker, and 
the skulking malice of his son ? You, Mr. Trevor, know better than 
I do who are about the President. Is there one amoiig them to whom 
your father's word would need the support of other testimony? Good 
old man ! So little has he of pride or jealousy, that this thought never 
occurs to him. He is modestly asking himself what right he has to 
expe# credence from those who do not know him. ,jA.nd who are these 
malcontent officers? Think you there is one of them who would ven- 
ture to express his dissatisfaction to you ? No. There is no one mal- 
content. No one dissatisfied but that son of the horse-leocli, whose 
mouth is ever agape, and never can be filled. 

" Do look at this letter," continued B — , addressing Mr. Trevor. 
" How perfectly in character. Not one traversable allegation (as the 
lawers say) except that of his friendship for your brother. ' Those 
friends whom I feel bound to consult !' Who are they ? Press him, 
and I dare say some fellow below contempt, some scullion of the kitchen 
political or the kitchen, gastronomical, may be found to father what it 
is alleged that these friends have Said. ' His information is from a 
source entitled to all confidence !' Does heeven saythat as of himself? 
No. He charges that, too, on his friends, though it might not be easy 
to find a sponsor for that compliment to old Baker.- Since the death of 
his brother pimp Ritchie, I think that sort of thing has gone out of 
fashion. ' Hardly less valuable and meritorious than your brother.' 
The same authority. ' On dit,'- ! they my' I think this last On would 
be as hard to find as that universal author of mischief, Nobody. 

"But when we come to the dissatisfaction of the army, it is .worse 
still. Here is on dit upon, ore dit. Somebody says that .-somebody else 
is dissatisfied ; and such are the gossamer threads, woven into a veil to 
hide this insult to your brother, and this indignity to your nephew. 
Take away these, and what remains but a wish io v soothe Baker 1 And 
what must be the force of those favorable dispositions to your young 
friend, which are to be counteracted by such a motive ? By a reluc- 
tance to offend an abject wretch too spiritless to resent, and without 
influence to make his resentment at all formidable." 

"Enough!" said Douglas; "I will send on my resignation by the 
next mail." # 

" No, my dear sir," said B — , " don't yield too readily ito my sug- 

" It was his own suggestion, and already approved by me," said Mr. 
Trevor.- " Had you . dissented, we would have <reconsidered the mat- 
ter. As it is, we are but confirmed in our decision." 

"That, being the case,'' said B — , "I have only to say distinctly 
that the thing admits of no doubt with me. I am not only sure that, 
in resigning, your nephew will do what best'becomes him as a gentle- 
man, but that he will make a fortunate escape from the services of one 
whose maxim it is to reward none but the mercenary." 

" Then go to work, my boy," said Mr. Trevor ; " the mail goes at 
daylight. Enclose your letter of- resignation, unsealed, in one to your 
father. I will have them mailed to-night, and you will get an answer 
in a week. Here are the materials. Write, and we will chat and take 
our eorffee. By the way, Douglas, you have not dined." 

" Thank you, my dear uncle, I am too busy to be hungry," said 
the youth." i 

"Be it so," said the old gentleman. "It is not so long since I was 
young but that I understand your trim. Starving is better than 
blood-letting, and a full heart^needs the one or the other." 

When Douglas's letters were finished, he would gladly have put them 
into Delia's hands before he sent them off; but he found, what most 
men have "been surprised to find, that after what had passed in the 
morning between him and Delia, it was much harder to obtain an in- 
terview with her than before. When a young gentleman makes a visit 
of some days to a friend in 'the country, whose daughter suspects that 
he has something to say to her that she is impatient to hear, it is 
amusing to see how many chances will bring them together. Each of 
them is always happening to have some call to go where the other nap- 
pens to be ; and when together, each is apt to be detained in the room 
fey some interesting occupation until the rest of the company have left 


it. They are continually meeting in passages and on stair-cases ; and, 
in pleasant weather, they are almost sure to stroll into the garden about 
the same time. But let the decisive word be once spoken, and all is 
changed. Then, bless us, how we blush ! and how we glide through 
half-open doors, and slip away around corners! 

Still 'it will happen, as love makes people restless, that both will rise 
early, and so meet in -the parlor before others- are awake. And then 
there is "the dewy eve and rising moon," and the quiet walk "by 
wimpling burn and leafy shaw ;" but as to a private word in the bust- 
ling hours of the day, that is out of the question. " . 
>. All this is the result of sheer accident. See how innocent and art- 
less she looks ! And how light and elastic is her step as she moves 
along; h?sr swan-like neck outstretched, her face slightly upturned, 
her eye swimming in light, and looking as if the veil of" futurity were 
raised before her, and all the gay visions of hope stood disclosed in 
bright reality. Is she not beautiful ? O, the charm of mutual love ! 
Who can wonder that each man's mistress, wearing this Cythereau 
zone, is, in his eyes, the Queen of Beauty herself? 

But I forget myself. What place for thoughts like these in a chron- 
icle of wars and revolutions ? True, it is in-such causes that the spring 
of great events is found ; but these belong to the history of man in all 
ages, in all countries, under all circumstances. It was so " lefore 
Helen," and will be so while the world stands. But it may not be un- 
profitable to look into the cham of cause and consequence, and to trace 
the deliverance of Virginia from thraldom, and the defeat of the usurp- 
er's well-laid plans,, to the impertinent speech of one of his minions to a 
country ,girl, during a pic-nic party at the falls of James river. 

But to return. Douglas took a copy of his letter of resignation, and, 

meeting Delia the next morning, put it into her hands. She read it 

with a grave and thoughtful countenance, and then, looking sadly i» 

his face, said : " This is what I feared." . 

* * 

" What you feared I" replied he, in amaaement. " Can you .then 

wish me to retain my place in, the army ?" 

"Until you resign ii»to conviction and a sense of duty, certainly!" 

" And ean you doubt that I have done so ?" 

" How can it be so V* she replied. " But yesterday we spoke on this 
subject. What has since happened ? O ! can it be that my noble 
father has imposed dishonorable conditions, and that you have been 
weak enough to comply with them ? ! Douglas ! Is my love fated 
to destroy the very qualities that engaged it 1" 

" Dear Delia," said Douglas, " I understand you now. Your beau- 
tiful indignation reminds me that you do not know what has passed." 


"What can have passed?" asked she, with earnest and reproachful 
sadness. "All the . eloquence and address of Mr. B — himself could 
not have convinced your unbiassed mind in two hours' conversation. I 
know his power. I know the wonders he has wrought, and I trembled 
when I heard the watchword, "coffee and privacy." I feared your 
love for me might be used to sway your judgment, and hoped to have 
found an opportunity to invoke'it for the worthier purpose of guarding 
your honor. I did not dream that, when I rose so early this morning, 
I was already too late." 

" Sweet youth,. I pray you chide sE year together," 

said Dougjas, playfully. " Your indignation is so eloquent," that, cruel 
as it is, I would not interrupt you to undeceive you. Your father and 
Mr. B — have made no attack on my opinions or allegiance, and what 
was done last night you have had no agency in, since our party at the 
falls. It all originated there." 

He now gave her the full history of the affair, and succeeded in con- 
vincing her that his standard of honor was even higher than she 
had imagined. If she requited him for her unjust suspicions with 
a kiss, he never told of it. Perhaps she did ; for although, according 
to the refinements of the Yankees, kissing was in very bad taste, yet the 
Northern regime had not reached the banks of the Roanoke. The 
ladies there continued still to walk in the steps of their chaste mothers, 
safe in that higltaense of honor which protects at once from pollution 
and suspicion. 

It is true, that when a people become corrupt, they must learn to be 
fastidious, and invent safeguards to prevent vice, and blinds to conceal 
it when it is to be indulged. Duennas are necessary in Spain. They 
are at once the guarantee of a lady's honor, and the safe instruments 
of her pleasures. Black eunuchs perform the same functions in Tur- 
key. In the Northern factories boys and gy-ls are not permitted to 
work together. In their churches, the gentlemen and ladies do not 
sit in the same pew. What a pitch of refinement ! Sterne's story of 
the Abbe in the theatre at Paris affords the only parallel. 

Thank God! the frame of our society has kept us free from the 
cause and its consequences. Whatever corruption there maybe among 
us is restrained to a particular c.lass, instead of diffusing itself by con- 
tinuous contact through all grades and ranks. If it were true, as the 
wise and eloquent, and pious, and benevolent, and discreet Dr. Chan- 
nirig had said, some fffteen years before, that below a certain line all 
was corrupt, it was equally true that above it all was pure. Nature 
had marked the line, and established there a boundary which the gan- 
grene of the social Body could never pass. 



Mammon, the least erected spirit, that fell 

From heaven, for e^n in heav'm Ms looks and thoughts 

Were always downward bent, admiring more 

The riches of heav'n's pavement, trodden gold, 

Than ought divine or holy else enjoyed 

In vision beatific. 


On the evening of the third day from that of which I have just 
been speaking, the President of the United States was. sitting alone in 
a small room in his palace^ which, in conformity to the nomenclature of 
foreign courts, it had become the fashion to call his closet. The fur- 
niture of this little apartment was characterized at once^by neatness, 
taste, and convenience. Without being splendid, it was rich and 
costly ; a>nd, in its structure and arrangement, adapted to the use of a 
man, who, devoted to business, yet loved, his ease. The weariness ot 
sedentary application was relieved by the most tasteful and commodi- 
our variety of chairs, couches, and sofas, while the utmost ingenuity 
was displayed in the* construction of desks, tables, anS other conveni- 
ences for reading and writing. In the appearance of the distinguished 
personage, to whose privacy I have introduced the reader, there was a 
mixture of thought and carelessness very much in character with the 
implements of business and the appliances for ease and comfort which 
surrounded him. He occasionally looked at. his watch, and at the door, 
with the countenance of one who expects a visiter; and then throwing 
himself against the arm of his sofa, resumed his disengaged air. That 
something was on his mind was apparent. .But, interesting as the sub- 
ject might be, it did not seem to touch Mm nearly. His whole man- 
ner was that of a man' who is somewhat at a loss to know what may be 
best for others, but finds full consolation in knowing precisely what is 
best for himself. 

As the events of the last ten years .make- it probable that none of 
my younger readers have ever seen the august dignitaTy of whom, I 
speak, and as few of us are like to have occasion to see him in future, 
a particular description of his person may not be unacceptable. Though 
far advanced in life, he was tastily and even daintily dressed, his whole 
costume being exactly adapted to a -diminutive and dapper person, a 

the;' partisan- leader. 75 

fair complexion, a light and brilliant blue eye, and a bead which might 
have formed a study for the phrenologist, whether we consider its ample 
developments or its egg-like baldness. The place of hair was supplied 
by powder, which his illustrious example had again made fashionable. 
The revolution in publie sentiment which commenced sixty. years -a^o? 
had abolished all the privileges of rank and age; which trained up the 
young to mock at the infirmities „of their fathers, and encouraged the 
unwashed artificer to elbow the duke from his place of precederree ; 
this revolution had now completed its cycle. While the sovereignty of 
numbers was acknowledged, the convenience of the multitude had set 
the fashions. But the reign of an individual had been restored, and 
the taste of that individual gave law to the general taste. Had he 
worn a wig, wigs would have been the rage. But as phrenology had 
taught him to be justly proud of his high and polished forehead, and 
the intellectual developments of the whole cranium,'he eschewed hair 
in all its forms, and barely screened his naked crown from the air with 
a light covering of powder. He seemed, too, not wholly unconscious 
of something worthy of admiration in a foot, the beauty of which was 
displayed "to the best advantage by the tight fit and high finish of his 
delieate slipper. As he lay back' on the sofa, his* eye rested compla- 
cently on -this member, which was stretched' out before him, its position* 
shifting as if unconsciously, into every Tariety of grace. Returning 
from thence, his glance rested on his hand, fair, delicate, small, ;ind 
richly jewelled. It hung carelessly on the arm of the =sofa, and the 
fingers of this, too, as if rather from- instinct thau ^volition, performed 
sundry evolutions on which the eye of majesty dwelt with gentle com- 

This complacent reverie was frequently broken by the sound of the 
door-bell.' - At such moments,- the President would Taise his head with 
a look of awakened expectation, which subsided instantly; until, by 
frequent repetition, it called up some expression of displeased im- 
patience. At last, the sound was echoed by a single stroke, whieh rung 
from what looked like a clock within the room. He immediately sat 
ereet, air of dignified and cotmpiaeent composure, suited 
to the reception of a respected visiter. 

The door opened, and the gentleman in, waiting- bowed into the roOm 
a person who well deserves a particular, description, and then with- 

The individual thus introduced- was a gentleman whose age could not 
be- much short of seventy. In person he had probably been once 
nearly six feet high, but time had at once crushed and bowed him to a 
much shorter stature. Indeed, the stoop of his shoulders, the protru- 


sion of the neck, and the projecting position of the chin, made to- 
gether that peculiar complex curvature which brings the top of the 
cape of the coat exactly against the top of the head. The expression 
of his countenance was, at once, fawning and consequential. His face 
had been originally something between round and square. It was now 
shortened by the loss of his teeth. The muscular fullness of youth had 
not been replaced by "any accession of fat, nor had the skin of his face 
shrunk, as it often does, on the retiring flesh. The consequence was, 
that his cheeks hung down in loose pouches, and all his features, 
originally small and mean, seemed involved in the folds of his shrivel- 
led and puckered skin. His voice was harsh and grating, and the 
more so from an attempt at suavity in the tones, which produced noth- 
ing more than a drawling prolongation of each word. Thus, though 
he spoke slowly, the stream of sound flowed continually from his lips, 
reminding the hearer' of the never-ending chant of the locust. 

As the president rose and gracefully advanced to welcome him, he 
shuffled forvvard as if wishing to prevent the honor thus done him, 
while the increased curve of his back and the eager humility of his 
upturned countenance, betokened the prostration of his spirit in the 
presence of the dispenser of honor and emolument. Having bowed 
.himself on the hand which had been graciously extended to him, he 
remained standing in the floor as if unmindful of repeated invitations 
to be seated. The President had not yet so entirely forgotten the 
manners which once distinguished him as a most accomplished gentle- 
man, and was not at first aware of the necessity of seating himself be- 
fore his deferential "guest. At length, he resumed his place on the 
sofa, and then the othe* with a new prostration, which seemed to apolo- 
gize for sitting in the presence, of majesty, followed his example. He 
did not, indeed, presume to share the sofa, though invited to do so, but' 
took his place on a seat equally luxurious on tie opposite side of the 
fire-place. But the luxury of the chaise longue was lost on him. Pie 
felt that to lean against the back or arm would be quite unbecoming, 
and sat as nearly erect as he could, in that precise posture which indi- 
cates a readiness to spring to the feet and do the bidding of a superior. 

" I had begun to despair of seeing you this evening, my dear sir," 
said the President, in a tone at once kind and reproachful. ■ " I had 
given orders that I should be denied to all but you." 

"You do me great and undeserved honor," replied the other, "but' 
I " 

" I wished to speak to you in private," continued Mr. Van Buren, 
not noticing the interruption, " of a- matter which deeply interests us 
both. Here is a letter which I received this morning, which makes it 


at least doubtful whether the last step which I took in regard to that 
young man, Trevor, is quite such as should have been taken." 

He then took from a bundle of papers, one which he read as fol- 

".Sir : I have just learned that charges of a serious nature have 
been made against Lieutenant Trevor, which, it seems, grow out of 
certain occurrences to which J am privy. I can have little doubt that 
the affair, to which I allude, has not been truly reported to you. Had 
it been, you would have seen that Lieutenant T. acted no otherwise 
than as became a soldier and a gentleman, in whose presence a lady, under 
his protection, had been insulted. The enclosed documents, to the au- 
thenticity of which I beg leave to testify, will place the transaction in 
its true light. Were Lieutenant T. at Washington, I should not lay 
these papers before you without authority from him. As it is^I trust 
I do no more than my duty by him, and by your Excellency, in fur- 
nishing such evidences of the real facts of the case, as may aid you in 
deciding on the course to be pursued in regard to it. 

"It maybe proper to add, that, having acted gs' Lieutenant *T.'s 
friend on the occasion, these documents were left in my possession in 
that character.' It is this same character, in which I feel it especially 
my duty to stepworward as the guardian of his honor and interests. 

" Hoping that your Excellency will excuse the freedom which calls 
your notice to so humble a name, 
" I have the honor to be, 

" Your Excellency's most obedient, 
" Humble servant, 

" Edgar Whiting, 
"Lieut. 12th Inf. U. S. A." 

Having read this letter aloud, the President, • without comment, 
placed in the hands of his guest a bundle of , papers. It is only neces- 
sary to tell the reader that they, were copies of the same documents 
which Douglas had laid before his father and uncle, each one duly 
authenticated by the attestation of Lieutenant Whiting. 

Mr. Van Buren now threw himself back upon the sofa, and fixed his 
eye on the face of his companion with an expression which betokened 
some concern, not unmixed with a slight enjoyment of the perplexity 
with which the purblind pored over the papers. Indeed, his 
uneasiness could hardly have escaped the observation of a casual spec- 
tator. He shifted his seat; he read; then wiped his spectacles, and 
read again; then wiped his brow; and having gone through all the 


documents, again took thern up in order, and read them all over again. 
When, at Pength, he had extracted all their substance, he turned on 
the President a perplexed and anxious look, and remained silent. 

At length, the latter spoke. "I fear we have made an unlucky 
blunder in this business, my dear sir," said he. 

" I fear so too, sir," said the other. "But I beg leave to assure 
your Excellency that the information I took the liberty to communi- 
cate was a simple and exact statement of „what I learned from my son, 
which, I trust, your Excellency will see is in nowifie contravened by 
these documents. I certainly was not apprised of the provocation, 
which, it is here said, was offered to a lady under Lieutenant Trevor's- 

" Make yourself perfectly easy on that head, my dear sir," said the 
President. " I give myself small con'cern on Lieutenant Trevor's ac- 
count. My obligations to his father are more than discharged by the 
rapid advancement of his elder, brother; and he can have no right to 
complain that proceedings have been instituted to inquire into a matter 
which, even thus explained, places his loyalty in no very favorable 
light. My concern is, lest the prosecution -of this investigation should 
lead to results undesirable to you." 

" I understand your Excellency," replied the honorab'e Mr. Baker. 
" The object of this communication is to convey a ojjvert intimation, 
that, if proceedings against Lien ten ant Trevor are not staid, he will 
revenge himself by endeavoring to dishonor my son. I never brought 
him up to be the ' butcher of a silk button,' and don't wonder that his- 
notions of galantry, &c. &c, do not exaatly square with those of these 
preux chevaliers." 

"That view of the subject is doubtless quite philosophical," said the 
President; "and if you regard it" in that light, it will remove all diffi- - 
culty out of the way." 

" I cannot exactly say," replied the other., " that I should be quite 
willing to expose my son to the pain of seeing these documents made 
public; concocted, as they manifestly have been, by men. who have 
learned to quarrel by the book, and contrived on. purpose to shut the 
door against enquiry. I dare say he would hardly have made the com- 
munication I received, could he have anticipated the step which I 
deemed it my duty to your. Excellency to take in consequence of it." 

"The misfortune is," replied the President, "that I have already 
caused an intimation to be given to Lieutenant Trevor that it may be 
necessary to order a court-martial, unless he thinks proper to demand a 
court of enquiry. Either way, the whole affair must come out." 

" Is there no other alternative ?" asked the anxious father. " Could- 


* • 

not these papers be suppressed? There is no other asthenic evidence 

of the facts." 

"Unfortunately," said the President, to whom habitual intercourse 
with the, base had made the feeling of contempt so familiar that he 
repressed it without difficulty, " unfortunately these papers are but 
copies. The originals are doubtless in the Tiands of Lieutenant .Whit- 
ing, whose, honor cannot be questioned, and probably they would be 
farther verified by the handwriting of your son." 

"What then can be done?" asked- the honorable Mr. Baker, in a 
state of unutterable perplexity Receiving no answer, he sat musing, 
with the restless and fidgeting air of a man who seeks in vain for some 
starting point for his thoughts. He was at length roused from his 
reverie by two strokes of the bell, which issued from the clock-case at 
the President's back. The signal was answered by the touch of a 
hand-bell, which stood on a table near him. The door opened. The 
gentleman in waiting entered, advanced to the table, laid a packet of 
letters before the President, and withdrew in silence. 

He took them trp, shuffled them through his hands as a whist player* 
runs over his cards, and having fixed his eye on one, took it out of the 
parcel, and threw the rest on the table. His companion having in the 
mean time relapsed into' unconscious reverie, he opened this, and ran 
his eye over the contents. 

"Here is good news for us, my dear sir," said he. "Lieutenant 
Trevor here tenders his resignation, which, perhaps, may put an end 
to the difliculty." 

" Perhaps !" exclaimed the other, eagerly.. " There can be no doubt 
about it, I hope." 

"None at all; if his accounts are all adjusted, of which I have 
little doubt. But it is not eustomary to let go "our hold on an officer 
by accepting bis resignation, until that matter has been enquired into." 

"It will he a great relief to me," faltered out Mr.. Baker,. looking at 
the President with an anxious and imploring countenance — 

"To have this explained at once," said Mr. Van Buren, interrupting, 
him. " You shall be gratified, my dear sir." 

The hand-bell was again sounded. The gentleman in waiting re-ap- 
peared; a. few words were spoken to him in a low tone, and he again 
withdrew. . 



■His thoughts were low, 

To vice industrious, but to noble deeds 
Timorous and slothful. 


"There is something in this business/' said the President, after a 
silence of a few minutes, "■ which I do not well understand.:: I was not 
prepared to find Lieutenant Trevor so ready to resign, and still less to 
receive his letter of resignation through the hands of his father, with- 
out one word of expostulation to bi3 son, or to, me. He does not evgn 
intimate any. the least regret at the avent. What can this mean ?" 

"It does not at all surprise me," said Mr. Baker. "Hugh Trevor 
was always a visionary and uncertain man ; and his over his 
sons is such, that I should consider the manifest defection of Lieuten- 
ant Trevor as a sure proof of the estrangement of the father." 

" I thought," said the President, " that he had been always remark- 
able for his steadiness and fidelity." 

"In one sense he is so," replied Baker. "But his steadiness is of 
the wrong sort. He is one of those men who professes to be governed, 
and, I dare say, is governed by principles. But his principles are so 
numerous, and so hedge him around and beset him an every side, that 
they have kept him standing' still the greater part of his life. When 
he moves, it would take an<expert mathematician to calculate the result 
of all the compound forces which act upon him, and todecide certain- 
ly what course he might take." 

" How happens it, then," asked the President, " that Ihave always 
found him so loyal and faithful in his devotion to me ?" 

" Because he identified your Excellency in his own mind with the 
Union, to which he determined. to sacrifice every thing else. • But now 
that disunion has come, and the question is whether Virginia shall ad- 
here to the North or join the South, he has a.-new problem to work, 
and how he may work it, no man can anticipate. Henc^ I say- he is 
uncertain." s> 

. " But does he think nothing of the advancement of his family ?" 

"It seems not, in this instance. That is what I meant whfcn I said 


that iiis principles were too many. Your Excellency knows," contin- 
ued the honorable gentleman, with a contortion of the mouth meant for 
a smile, and which, but. for the loss of his teeth, might have, produced 
a grin, " that the cardinal number of standard principles- is the only one 
which can be counted on." 

"Have you then any information," asked the President, " which 
leads you to suspect him of disaffection ?" 

" None," replied Baker. ; '•' I do but speak from my knowjedge of 
the man. I do not think hiin capable of that gratitude for the many 
favors he and his family have received^ which should bind him izidisso- 
lubly to your Excellency's service." 

" It is well, at least," said the President, " that one of his sons, on 
whom most of those favors have been iavished, is made of different 
materials. The principles of Colonel Teevor are exactly of the right 
s<3rt; or, as you would say, my dear sir, they are of just the right num- 
ber. Could I obtain any information of the father's movements, which 
might give me" just cause to doubt him, I would take occasion to show 
the difference I make between the faithful and the unsmble. I would 
refuse to receive this young man's resignation, and order a court-mar- 
tial immediately. I mistake if the father would not be glad to extri- 
cate him from the difficulty, by renouncing some of these fantastic no- 
tions which he dignifies with the name of principles." 

" I beseech your Excellency," said Baker, .forgetting his envious 
spleen against the virtuous and upright friend of his early youth, in his 
alarm at the mention of the court-martial, " I beseech your Excellency 
not to understand me as preferring any charge against Mr. Hugh Trevor. 
He is an excellent man, who well deserves all the favors he has re- 
ceived, and will, doubtless, merit many more. I pray that what I have 
said may not at all influence you to any harsh measures against him or 
his." ' 

The tact of the President at once detected the revulsion of Baker's 
feelings, and the cause. Indeed, he well knew both the men. He was 
aware that all that had been said of Mr. Trevor was essentially true. 
He had, therefore,, the more highly prized his friendship, as one of the 
brightest jewels in his crown. He had taught his advocates and min- 
ions to point to him as one, whose support it was known would not be 
-given to any man but from a sense of duty. He was # himself not so 
dead to virtue as not to respect it in another ; and his favorable dispo- 
sitions toward Mr. Trevor, and the benefits bestowed on his family, had 
more of respect and gratitude than commonly mingled in his feelings 
or actions. Of Baker, he had rightly formed a different estimate. He 
found him in the shambles, and had bought and used him. To Baker 


too, Mr. Trevor appeared only .as one, in whose life there was a " daily 
beauty that made his ugly ■" and he had seen, with malignant envy, 
the honors and emoluments for which he had toiled through all the 
drudgery of a partisan, freely bestowed on the unasking and unpre- 
tending merit of a rival.' Gladly would he have improved the distrust, 
which he. saw had entered into the mind of the President, had he not 
been warned that the first effect of it might be to press an enquiry 
which must eventuate in the irreparable dishonor of his own son. 

While he sat meditating on these things, and subduing his malice to 
his fears and his interest, the clopr-bell sounded; the single stroke from 
the clock-case echoed the sound ; the door opened, and a new character 
appeared on the stage. 

No person whose name appears in this history better deserves a par- 
ticular description th^n he who now entered. Fortunately, I am saved 
the necessity of going into it, by having it in power to refer the reader 
to a most graphic delineation of his exact prototype in person, mind 
manners, and principles. 

In Oliver Dain, or Oliver le Liable, as he was called, the favorite 
instrument of the crimes of that remorseless tyrant Louis IX., he had 
found his great examplar. The picture of that worthy, as drawn by 
Sir Walter Scott, in Quentin Durward, is the most exact likeness of one 
man ever taken for another. It is not even worth while to change the 
costume ; for although he dfd not. appear with a barber's apron girded 
around his waist, and, the basin in his hands, it was impossible to look 
upon him without seeing that his undoubted talents, and the high sta- 
tions he had filled, still left him fit tq be employed in the most abject 
and menial services. 

This happy compound of meanness, malignity, treachery,, and talent, 
was welcomed by the'President with a nod and smile at once careless 
and gracious. At the sight of him, Mr. Baker made haste to rise, 
and bustled forward to meet and salute him with an air, in which, if 
there was less of servility, there was more of the eagerness of adula- 
tion than he had displayed toward the President himself. The earnest 
enquiries of Mr. Baker after his health, &e.y ; &c, were answered with 
the fawning air of one who feels himself much obliged by the notice 
of a superior, and he then turned to the President as. if waiting his 
commands. These were communicated by putting into his hands the 
letters of Mr. Hugh Trevor and his son, which he was requested to 

While he read, the President, turning to Mr. Baker, said — " While 
I thought of ordering a court-martial on the case of Lieutenant Trevor, 
I deemed it advisable to have all bis military transactions looked into, 


intending, if any thing were amiss, to the. subject of a distinct 
charge." Then, turning to the other, he added — ".You have, I pre- 
sume, acquainted yourself with the state of the. young man's ac- 

" I'have, sir," was the reply. " They hive been all settled punctu- 

" Then there is irothing to prevent the acceptance of his resigna- 
tion r 

" Nothing of fhat sort, certainly, sir. But has your Excellency ob- 
served the date of this letter of his? You may see that he does not 
date from his father's house. I happen to know flhis place, Truro, to 
be the residence of that pestilent traitor, his uncle. Now, if the charge 
be well founded, I submit to -your Excellency whether the offender 
should be permitted to escape prosecution by resigning. If it be. not 
exactly capable of being substantiated^ yet his readiness to resign on so 
slight an intimation renders his disaffection at least probable, and his 
date renders it nearly certain. Might it not be then advisable to re- 
tain the hold we have upon him ? The court-martial being once or- 
dered, additional charges might be preferred ; and I much mistake the 
temper of the country where he is, if he does not furnish matter for 
additional charges before the month of April passes by." 

"Why the month of April?" asked the President. 

"Because then the elections come on ; and there is little doubt that 
exertions will be made to obtain a majority in the Legislature of men 
disposed to secede, and join the Southern Confederacy. In that coun- 
ty, in particular, I am well advised that such exertions will be made. 
A hen-hearted fellow has been put forward as the candidate of the 
malcontents, who can be easily driven from the canvass by his personal 
fears. Let the affair once take that shape, and immediately the fantas- 
tic notions of what Southern men call chivalry, which infest the brain 
of this old drawcansic; will push him forward as a candidate. I had 
made some arrangements which, with your Excellency's approbation, I 
had proposed to carry into effect for accomplishing this result, in the 
hope of bringing him into collision with the law of treason, and so 
getting rid at once of a dangerous enemy. Now, if this young man's 
resignation be rejected, and a Court-martial be ordered, the part he will 
act in the affair can hardly fail to be such as to make his a ball-cart- 
ridge case." 

" Your plan is exceedingly well aimed," said the President, " but on 
farther reflection, my good friend Mr. Baker is led by feelings of deli- 
cacy to wish to withdraw his charges. I am loth to deny any thing to 
one who merits so much at my hands, but still there are difficulties in 



the way which will not permit us to pursue that course. # The accept- 
ance of this resignation will effectually remove them, and indirectly 
gratify the wish of Mr. Baker. Now, what do you ad-rise V 

In the act of asking this question, the President shifted his position 
so suddenly as to call the minion's attention to the motion. He looked 
up and saw his master's face averted from Mr. Baker, and thought he 
read there an intimation that he should press his former objection. 
This he therefore did, expressing his reluctance to give advice unfavor- 
able to the wishes of one so much respected as Mr. Baker, and highly 
complimenting the delicacy of his scruples. 

" But, suppose,"*asked the President, " we pToss the passage of the 
law authorizing a court to sit here for the trial, by a jury of this Dis- 
trict, of offences committed in Virginia. In that case, should our 
young cock crow too loud, we might find means to cut his comb without 
a cotirt-martial." 

" That Congress will pass such a law cannot be doubted," said 
the other, "were it not vain to do so, when it seems to be understood 
that none of the judges would be willing to execute it. I am tired of 
hearing of constitutional scruples." 

" I am bound to respect them," replied the President, meekly. " But 
I really do not see the grounds for them in such a case as this. I beg 
pardon, Judge Baker, I know it is against rule to ask a judge's opin- 
ion out of court. But I beg you to enlighten me so far as to explain 
to me what are the scruples which trie bench are supposed to feel on 
this subject. I make the enquiry, because I am anxious, to accept this 
young fellow's resignation, if, in doing so, I shall not lose the means of 
punishing the offences which there is too much reason to think Ire 
meditates. To try him in Virginia would be vain. Indeed, I doubt 
whether your court could sit there in safety." 

"I fear it could not," replied the Judge, " and have therefore no 
difficulty in saying, that the necessity of the ease should overrule all 
constitutional scruples. I have no delicacy in answering your Excel- 
lency's question out of court. It is merely an enquiry, which I hope 
is superfluous, whether I would do my duty. I trust it is not doubted 
that I would ; and should I be honored with your Excellency's com- 
mands in that behalf, I should hold myself bound te execute them. 
To speak more precisely — should the court be. established, and I ap- 
pointed to preside in it, I should cheerfully do so." 

" That then removes all difficulty," said the President. " The young 
man's resignation, therefore, will be accepted, and measures must be 
taken to distribute troops through the disaffected counties in such num- 
bers as may either control the display of the malcontent spirit at the 


polls, -or invite it to show itself in such a shape as shall bring it within 
the scope of your authority, and the compass of a halter." 

Some desultory conversation now arose .on various topics, more and 
ni&re remote from public affairs. On these Mr. Baker would have been 
glad to descant, and perhaps to hear the thoughts of the President and 
his minister. But all his attempts to detain them from talking exclu- 
sively of lighter- matters were effectually baffled by the address of the 
former. All this was so managed as to wear out the evening, without 
giving the gentleman the least reason to suspect that he was in the 
way, or that the great men who had seemed to admit him to their con- 
fidence, placed themselves under the least constraint in his presence. 
At length he took his leave. 



^hat just habitual scorn, which could contemn 

Men and their thoughts, 'twas wise to feel. Byron. 

As the door closed behind him, the countenance of the President re- 
laxed into a smile, indicative of great satisfaction and self-applause, 
along with an uncontrollable disposition to merriment. The smile soon 
became a quiet laugh, which increased in violence, without ever be- 
coming ioud, until he lay back against the arm of the sofa, and covered 
his face with his handkerchief. At length his mirth exhausted itself, 
arid he sat erect, looking at the Minister with the countenance of one 
about to make some amu*sing communication. But he waited to be 
spoken to, and remained silent. His minion took the hint, and ad- 
dressing himself to what he supposed to be passing in his master's 
mind, said : " I beseech your Excellency to tell me by what sleight, by 
what tour de main, this hard knot about jurisdiction has been made to 
slip as easily as a hangman's noose ? I feared we should have had to 
cut it with the sword, and behold it unties itself." 

•' How can you ask such a question ?" said the President, with mock 
gravity. "Did you not hear the elaborate and lucid argument by 
which the Judge proved incontestibly that it could not be unconstitu- 
tional to do his duty 1 The wonder is how.they ever contrived to make a 
difficulty. Surely none who shall ever hear that demonstration can 
doubt again." 

" But may I be permitted to ask by what means such a flood of light 
has been poured upon his mind ? But yesterday he was dark as the 
moon in its perihelion. Has the golden ray of additional favors again 
caused its face to shine ?" 

" No," said the President. 

" No new emoluments to him or his ?" 

"None at all," was the laughing answer. 

" No new honors 1" 

" None, but the honor of doing additional duty, for the first time ip 
his life, without additional compensation." 

" In the name of witchcraft, then, what has wrought upon him ?" 

"That I shall not tell you," said the President, still laughing ; "that 
is my secret; that part of my art you shall never know. It is one of 


the jokes that a man enjoys the letter for having it all to himself. I 
keep it for my own diversion. It is a sort of royal game, .^ou, I am 
sure, may be satisfied with your share in the sport, having been ad- 
mitted to hear that argument. It was a lesson in dialectics worth a 
course at a German university. But come 1 There is a time to laugh, 
and a time to be serious. What do you propose, on the subject of these 
Virginia elections ?" 

" I propose," said the Minister, " to distribute some five hundred 
men i$. certain counties, with the dispositions of which I have made 
myself acquainted, to preserve order at the elections, as*we should say 
to the unitiated ; but iri plain English, to control them. They will 
succeed in this, or provoke violence. Either way, we carry our point. 
We prevail in the elections, or we involve "the members elect in a charge 
of treason. I think we may trust Judge Baker for the rest. The 
more dangerous of our enemies will thus fall under the edge of the 
law, and the less efficient* if not left in a minority, will be powerless for 
want of leaders." 

"But the scene of action," said the President, "is close to the line. 
The offenders may escape into North Carolina, and from thence ksep 
up a communication with their friends. They may even venture to 
Bichmond at a critical moment, and effect their great purpose, or they 
may adjourn to some place of greater security." 

" It will certainly be necessary," said the Minister, " to guard against 
that, by increasing the number of troops at the seat of government. 
Besides, if we can but get one day to ourselves, their chance of legis- 
lative action may be broken up by adjournment sine die," 

" Then, with so many points in the game in our favor," replied the 
President, " we have but to play it boldly and we must win. It shall 
go hard, too, if, in the end, we do not ■ make this superfluous State Le- 
gislature, this absurd relic of imperium in impcrio, abolish itself. At 
all events., the course of conduct which they will necessarily pursue, 
must sink the body in public estimation, and dispose the people to ac- 
quiesce in the union of all power in the hands of the Central Govern- 
ment. We can then restore them all the benefits of real and efficient 
local legislation, by erecting these degraded sovereignties into what they 
ought always to have been — municipal corporations, exercising such 
powers as we choose to g'-ant." 

Some farther conversation ensued, in which details were settled. A 
minute was made of the points at which troops should be stationed ; the 
number of men fo be placed at each ; and the corps from which they 
were to be drawn. It was left to the Minister to fix on proper persons 
to command each party, and to devise instructions as to the part to be 


acted. In some places it was proposed simply to ' awe the elections 
by the mere presence of the military; in some, to control them 
hy actual or threatened violence; in others, insult was to be rased, 
tumult excised, resistance provoked, and dangerous men drawn in to 
commit acts which might be denounced as criminal. Having thus pos- 
sessed' himself of his master's will, this modern Sejanus withdrew to 
give the necessary orders for effecting it. 

" The only truly wise man that I know in the world/' said the Presi- 
dent, looking after him. " The only one who knows man as he is; who 
takes .no account of human virtue, but as one form of human weak- 
ness. In his enemies, it gives him a power over them which he always 
knows how to use ; in his instruments, he desires none of it. Why 
cannot I profit more by his instruction and example? Fool that I am! 
I will try to practise a lesson." 

He rung the bell, and directed that the Minister should be requested 
to return. 

He had not yet left the palace, and soon re-appeared. As he entered, 
the President said : "This young Trevor — he has. talent, has he not?" 

" Talent of every kind," said the Minister. 

" That he has a superabundance of what fools eall honor and gal- 
lantry, I happen to know. I suppose his other virtues are in propor- 
tion V 

" I suspect so, from the example of the father and all I can learn of 
the son." 

" Can you then doubt of his ultimate coarse, or even that of his 
father ? Do you doubt that if the standard of rebellion is once raised, 
the young man will be found lighting under it, with the old man's ap- 
probation ?" 

" Not at all. I know no man who would raise it sooner than himself, 
after he has had time to be thoroughly indoctrinated by his uncle." 

" Then the sooner the better ; he is but a cockerel yet. What if he 
can be brought to commit himself before his spurs have acquired their 
full length ?" 

" Nothing could be more judicious, and nothing easier." 

" How would you go about it ?" 

"Let him have a letter neither accepting or rejecting ; intimating 
the necessity of farther investigation of his accounts, &c, &e., before 
We let him off, and requiring him, for the convenience of farther cor- 
respondence, to remain at the place from whence his letter is dated. 
Keep him fretted in this way until the election is near at hand, and, a 
day or two before, let him receive a letter accepting his resignation. 


My life upon it, he will spring to his destruction like a bow when the 
.string is cut, that snaps by its own violence." 

" You are right," said the President; " that will do. Much will de-; 
pend on*he style of that -letter. You have your hands too full to be 
. troubled with such things, or I should askyou to do what no man can do 
so well. But you have your pupils, who have learned of you to say 
what is to be said, so as just to produce the desired effect, and no 

The instrument of the royal pleasure again withdrew. Again the 
President looked after him, and said, musingly : " Were I not myself, 
I- would be that man. I should even owe him a higher compliment 
could one be devised; for, but. for him, I had never been what I am. 
What then ? Is he the creator,, and am I his creature? No. lam 
wrong. Could he have made himself what I am, he would have done 
so. He has but fulfilled my destiny, and I his. He has made me 
what I alone was capable of becoming, and I, in turn, have made him 
all that he ever can be. I owe him nothing therefore; and should he 
ever be guilty of anything like virtue, there is nothing to hinder me 
from lopping off any such superfluous excrescence, even if his head 
should go with it. But he is in no danger on that score. If he held 
his life by no other tenure, his immortality would be sure." 

While the master thus soliloquized, the minion was wending his way 
home, to "the performance of the various duties assigned him. Our 
present business is with the letter to Douglas alone. The pen of a 
ready and skillful writer was employed, the document was prepared, 
submitted to the inspection of the President,, approved by him, signed 
" by order " by the Secretary of War, committed to the mail, aud 
forwarded to Douglas. Let us accompany it. 



• Behold the tools, 

The broken tools that tyrants cast away 

By myriads. — : Byron. 

Behold us then, once more, at the tloor of Mr. Bernard Trevor's 
little study. The uncle and nephew are together. A servant enters 
with letters from the post-office, and we enter with him. The letters 
are opened, and Douglas having read that of the Secretary of War, 
hands it to his uncle. Let us read with him. 

" Sir : I have it in command from his Excellency the President to 
say, that your letter of resignation has been received with surprise and 

" He has seen with surprise that, at a moment of such critical im- 
portance, one who had been, as it were, the foster-child of the Union, 
should seize, with apparent eagerness, a pretext to desert the banner of 
his too partial sovereign. 

" His regret is not at the loss of service, which, rendered by one ca- 
pable even of meditating such a step, would, at best, be merely nomi- 
nal ; but at the thought that that one is the son of a friend so long 
cherished and so much respected as your father. 

" I am farther charged to remind you that resignation, when resorted 
to for the purpose of evading military prosecution, is always deemed 
little short of a confession of guilt. In most cases, this produces no 
embarrassment. The loss of the commission is generally an adequate 
punishment; and it is, in such cases, well to leave the conscience and 
the fears of the accused to inflict that punishment, ratifying the sen- 
tence by prompt acceptance of the proffered resignation. 

" But this does not hold in all cases. The President bids me say 
that he is not yet prepared how to act in one of so serious a character 
as this. His regard for your father is the source of this perplexity. 
He requires time to reflect how far he 4 can reconcile to his public duty 
that tenderness to the feelings of a friend which makes him desirous, 
if possible, to stay enquiry by accepting your resignation. Under 
other circumstances, he would not hesitate to reject it ; and instantly 


order a court-martial, as the proper means of bringing to prompt and 
merited punishment an offence which, I am charged to say, he con- 
siders as virtually admitted by your attempt to evade a trial; when, if 
innocent, you would certainly wish an investigation, in order to estab- 
lish your innocence. 

"In conclusion, lam instructed to say that for the purpose of farther 
communication, if necessary, and to facilitate such measures as it may 
be deemed proper to feke in relation to you, I am required to keep my- 
self advised of your locality. To save trouble, .therefore, I deem it ad- 
visable to command you to remain at the place from whence your letter 
of resignation was dated, and to which this is directed, until farther or- 

" Yours, &c, &c. 
("By order of the President.") 

This letter Mr. Trevor read with calm and quiet attention, carefully 
weighing every phrase and word, while Douglas, perceiving the hand- 
writing of his friend Whiting on the back of another, hastily tore it 
open, and read as follows : 

" I never performed a more painful duty in my life, my dear Trevor, 
than in putting the seal and superscription to the accompanying letter 
from the Secretary. 

" My situation in the Department should have giv^n me earlier no- 
tice of what was passing, but I got no hint of it until yesterday. I im- 
mediately did what I believed to be my duty ai| a friend, though I am 
now fearful that what I did may not meet your entire approbation. I 
am sensible you would not have done it for yourself ; but there are 
some things which delicacy forbids us to do in our own case, which we 
are not displeased to have done by others. Indeed, had I known that 
the matter had gone so far, I should have left it in your own hands. 
But I had no reason to believe that any intimation of it had, as yet, 
been given to you, and I wished to prevent any step whatever from 
being taken. 

*«■ "With this view I ventured to lay the whole correspondence before 
the President. I know that he received and read it. You will there- 
fore judge my surprise at being required to-day to forward the un- 
precedented document which accompanies this. 

" I am^guilty of no breach of duty when I assure you that that pa- 
per is sent, as it imports on its face, ' by the order of the President.' 
The Secretary is not responsible even for one word of it. The very 


handwriting is unknown to me, and it was sent to the department pre- 
cise]}' in the shape in which you receive it. 

" Knowing what I did, I should have doubted whether it had not 
been surreptitiously placed among other papers transmitted to us at the 
same time; but there is no room'for mistake. It came accompanied 
by the most authentic evidence that it had been read and approved by 
the President himself. 

" I find myself placed in a delicate situation. 3 Here is an avowal of 
full faith in a charge disproved by my positive assurance — a charge 
that no one can believe, who does not believe me capable of basely fab- 
ricating the documents, copies of which the President has, authenti- 
tated under my hand. 

" Your own course leaves no doubt what you would advise me to do 
undersuch circumstances; but my lot in life is different from yours. 
Impatient as I am of this indignity, I fear I shall be constrained to 
bear it. ' My poverty, but not my will consents.' I do not, therefore, 
ask you to advise me, for I would not do so, unless prepared to give to 
your advice more weight than I can allow it. It could add nothing 
to the convictions of my own mind, and the indignant writhings of 
my own wounded honor ; and even these, God help me, I am forced to 
resist ! 

" This affair has, as yet, made no noise. It is not at all known of in 
the army ; but I think I can assure you of the sympathy of all whose 
regard you value, and their unabated confidence in your honor and 
fidelity. I shall make it my business, be the consequence to myself 
what it may, to do you ample justice. Indeed, my indignation makes 
me so reckless of consequences, that, apart from the necessity of bear- 
ing insult from one from whom no redress can be demanded, I am not 
sure that I do not envy your lot. 

" That your resignation will eventually be accepted, cannot be doubt- 
ed. What is the motive to this letter, it is hard to say; but certainly 
it does not proceed from such a disposition as would willingly afford 
you an opportunity of triumphant vindication. 

" God bless you, my dear Trevor. We have indications that stirring 
times are at hand, which will tempt me to exchange the pen for the 
sword. Where duty may call me, I cannot anticipate ; but it will hi 
strange if the charms of a life of active service don't bring us together 
again. Meet when we may, you will find still and unalterably, your 
friend, E. W," 

Having read this second letter, Dougjas passed it also to, his uncle, 
and rising, hastily left the house. It is needless to scan the thoughts 


that accompanied him in his ramble. They were bitter and fierce 
enough. But he had learned, in early life, to master his feelings, and never 
to venture 'into the presence of others until the mastery had been es- 
tablished. Many a weary mile did he walk that day before his pur- 
pose*was accomplished, but having at last effected it, he returned. 

Mr. Trevor. had found leisure, in the' meantime, to scrutinize the. let- 
ters in whole and in detail, and had at length arrived at a conclusion 
not far from the truth. He was prepared, therefore, to welcome the 
return of Douglas with a cheerful smile; and instead of adding to his 
excitement by any expression of resentment or disgust, endeavored to 
calm and soothe him. For such conduct Jhe young man was altogether 
unprepared. Aware of his uncle's wishes in regard to him, he had 
looked for something different, and had endeavored to fortify his mind 
against such impressions as he feared he might attempt to make on it. 
The great principles by which he had been taught to govern himself 
were not false because he had been wronged. His duty to the Union 
was not affected by the injustice of the President. So his father would 
have reasoned the matter, and like his father, he determined, if possible, 
to think and act. But he had no idea that in this attempt he would 
receive countenance and even aid from his uncle. It may, therefore, 
be readily believed that the old gentleman rose yet higher in his es- 
teem and confidence, from the delicacy and forbearance which he so 
unexpectedly practised. 



Stone walls do not a prison make, 
Nor iron bars a cage. 


It was settled, on consultation, that he should abide the final event; 
and that, until then, nothingof what had passed should be made known 
to his father, to Delia, or to any of the family but Mrs. Trevor. In 
her he had learned to seek an adviser; and in her he always found one, 
sincere, sagacious, and discreet. Mr. Trevor, as I have said, was not a 
man from whose opinions his wife would probably dissent, but he had 
not contented himself to command her blind, unreasoning-acquiescence. 
He had trained her mind; he had furnished her with materials for 
thought ; and he had taught her to think. She was in all his confi- 
dence, and he consulted with her habitually on plans which involved 
the welfare of his country. From her, therefore, the history of Doug- 
las's entanglement with the authorities at Washington was nQt con- 
cealed. From the rest of the family it was a profound secret; and, as 
Mr. Trevor's health was now much restored, it did not interrupt the 
enjoyments of the genial season which invited them to seek amuse- 
ment out of doors. By means of this, the impatience of Douglas was 
diverted, and he found it quite easy to accomplish his philosophical de- 
termination to wait the result of the affair in patience. 

When, at length, a week had been allowed him to fret his heart out, 
the' deferred acceptance of his resignation was received. This, too, was 
couched in phrases of decorous and studied insult. But he had learned 
to think that the dastard blow struck by one who screens himself be- 
hind the authority of office, inflicts no dishonor. The interval, which 
had been intended to give his passions time to work themselves into a 
tempest, had subdued them. Reason had taken the ascendant, and, 
though his reflections had not been much more favorable to the author- 
ity of his former master, than the promptings of his resentment, they 
were much less suited to his present purpose. He was effectually 
weaned; divested of all former pre-possessions, and ready to. yield 
to the dictates of calm, unbiassed reason. He sought his uncle, and 
with a quiet and cheerful smile, handed him the letter. 

As soon as Mr. Trevor read it ; he exclaimed, "Thank God ! you are 
now a freeman." 


" I am truly thankful for it," replied -Douglas, " though, I feel as if 
I shall never lose the mark of the collar which reminds me that I have 
been a slave. But, until within a short time past, I- have never felt 
that.I was." 

" When the bondage reaches to the mind/' said Mr. Trevor, " it is 
not felt." 

"And was m'ne enslaved," asked Douglas, "when- my thoughts 
were as free as air ?" 

" Their prison was airy," replied the old gentleman, " and roomy, and 
splendidly fitted up. But look at the President's letters, and see the 
penalties you might have incurred, had your freedom of thought ram- 
bled into such opinions as many of your best friends entertain." 

" Still," replied Douglas, " the penalty would have attached, not to 
the opinion but to the expression of it." 

"And do you think your mind would work without constraint, in 
deciding between opinions which it might be unsafe to express, and 
those which would be regarded as meritorious ?" 

" I can, at least, assure you that such a thought as that never oc- 
curred to me." 

'• But it occurred to your friends. It tied my tongue, and, I suspect, 
your father's too, of late. Now that I am free to speak, let me ask, 
wherein would have been the criminality of expressing the opinions 
imputed to you ?" 

"It would have been inconsistent witb my duty of allegiance." 

" Allegiance ! To whom I You will not say to King Martin, the 
First? To' what?" 

" To the constitution of the United States* I was bound by oath to 
support that." 

" And what if your views' of the constitution had shown you thai 
the acts of the Government were violations of the constitution, and 
that the men denounced by Baker as traitors were its most steady sup- 
porters. What duty would your oath have prescribed in that case? 
Would you support the constitution by taking part with those who 
trampled it under foot, against those who upheld it as long as there 
was hope ?" 

" I should have distrusted my own judgment. Surely, you would 
not have me set up that against the opinions of the legislature, execu- 
tive, and judiciary, .all concurrently expressed according to the forma 
of the constitution." 

" What then must /do?" asked Mr. Trevor. "Be the opinions oi 
all these men what they may, tlm constitution, after* all, is what it is. 
As such, I am bound to support it. Now, when I have schooled myself 


into all possible respect for their judgment, and all possible diffidence 
of my own, if I still think that they are clearly in error, is it by con- 
forming to their opinion or my own that I shall satisfy my own con- 
science, to which my oath binds me, that I do actually support the 
constitution ?" 

"I suppose," said Douglas, " you must, in that case, conform to your 
own convictions." 

" Then /may, at last, trust my own judgment when I have no longer 
any doubt." 

"■ You must, of necessity." 

"And you," said Mr. Trevor, "who were not free to do so — who, in 
the matter of an oath, were to be guided, not by your own conscience, 
but by the consciences of other men — was your mind free?" 

Douglas colored high, and, after a long pause, said : " I see that I. 
have been swinging in a gilded cage, and mistook its motions for those 
of my own will. I see it, and again respond cordially to your ejacula- 
tion—Thank God ! I am free !" 

" I rejoice at it, especially," said Mr. Trevor, '' because now all re- 
serve is at an end between us. Heretofore, in all rn intercourse with 
you, my tongue has been tied on the subject of wiiich I think most, 
and on which I feel most deeply. I find it hard to speak to a son of 
Virginia without speaking of her wrongs, and the means of redressing 
them. It is harder still, when he to whom I speak is my own son 

" I have long ago learned from* my father," said Douglas, "that the 
whole South had been much oppressed. I know, too, that he attri- 
butes the oppression to the exercise of powers not granted by the con- 
stitution. But, with every disposition to resist this oppression, he 
taught me to bear it sooner th«tn incur the evils of disunion." 
" What are they ?" 

" Weakness, dissention, and the danger to liberty from the standing 
armies of distinct and rival powers." 

" Hence you have never permitted yourself to look narrowly into 
the question." 

" I never have. I have no doubt of our wrongs; but I have never 
suffered myself to weigh them against disunion. That I have been 
taught to regard as the maximum of evil." 

" But disunion has now come. The question now is, whether you 
shall continue to bear these wrongs, or seek the remedy offered by an 
invitation to join the Southern Confederacy. The evils of which you 
speak would certainly not be increased by such a step. We might 
weaken the North, but not ourselves. As to standing armies, here we 


have one among us. The motive which that danger presented is now 
reversed in its operation. While we remain as we are, the standing 
army is fastened upon us. By the proposed change, we shake it off. 
Then, as to dissention, if there is no cause of war now,, there would be 
none then. Indeed the only cause would be removed, and it would be 
seen that both parties had every inducement to peace. Even in the 
present unnatural condition, you see that the separation having once 
taken place, there remains nothing to quarrel about." 

" What, then/' said Douglas, " is the meaning of all this military 
array that I se'e ? Are no hostile movements apprehended from the 
Southern Confederacy ?" * 

" Not at.all. They have no such thought. The talk of such things 
is nothing but a pretext for muzzling Virginia." 

" How do you mean ?" asked Douglas. 

" You will know if you attend the election in this county to-morrow. 
You will then see that a detachment of troops has been ordered here 
on the eve of the election. The ostensible use of it, is to aid in the 
prevention of smuggling, or, in other words, in the enforcement of the 
odious tariff, and a participation in the advantages our southern neigh- 
bors enjoy since they have shaken it off. But you will see this force 
employed to brow-beat and intimidate the people, and to drive from 
the polls such as cannot be brought to vote in conformity to the will of 
our rulers. Go back to Richmond next winter, and you will see the 
force stationed there increased to- what will be called an army of ob- 
servation. In the midst of this, the Legislature will hold its mock de- 
liberations ; and you will find advanced posts so arranged as to bridle 
the disaffected counties, and prevent the people from marching to the 
relief of their representatives. By one or the other, or both of these 
operations, Virginia will be prevented from expressing her will in the 
only legitimate way, and her sons, who take up arms on her behalf, 
will be stigmatised as traitors, not only to the United States, but to 



Ah, viilian! thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the King 
for carrying my head to him. — Shakspeare. 

As Mr. Trevor had intimated, the next day was tke day for the elec- 
tion of members to the State Legislature. The old gentleman, in 
spite of his infirmities, determined to be present. He ordered his ba- 
rouche, and provided with arms both the servant who drove him, and 
one who attended on horseback. He armed himself also with pistols 
and a dirk, and recommended a like precaution to Douglas. " You 
must go on horseback," said he. " It may enable you to act with more 
efliciency-on an emergency. At all events, were you to drive me, I 
should have no excuse for taking one whose services I would not will- 
ingly dispense with. Give me the world to choose from, and old Tom's 
son Jack is the man I would wish to have beside me in the hour of 
danger. As to you, my son, I think your late master would not be 
sorry to get you into a scrape. You should, therefore, be on your 
guard. My infirmities will render your personal aid necessary to help 
me to the polls. Keep near me, therefore; but keep cool, and leave 
me to fight my own battles. Prudence and forbearance are necessary 
for you. As to me, I have nothing to hazard. The measure of my 
offences is full already. I have sinned the unpardonable sin, and 
though there is no name for it inthe statute book, I have no doubt if 
they had me before their new Court of High Commission at Washing- 
ton, your special friend, Judge Baker, would find one." 
" Why do you call him my special friend," asked Douglas. 
" Because I have means of being advised of what is doing among 
our rulers-, and know that he was at the bottom of the whole proceed- 
ing against you. Therefore, I warn you to be prudent to-day. Depend 
upon it, if you can be taken in a fault, he will find means ' to feed fat 
his grudge' against you." 

On reaching the election ground, the stars and stripes were seen 
floating above the door of the court-house, which was still closed. A 
military parade was "being enacted" for the amusement of the boys 
and cake women, and the uniform showed that the men were regulars 


in the service of the United States. They were twenty or thirty in 
number, all completely armed and equipped. As soon as Mr. Trevor 
appeared, they were dismissed from parade, the door was thrown open, 
and they rushed into the house. Presently after, it was proclaimed 
that the polls were opened. 

As Mr. Trevor approached the door, 'Douglas observed that a multi- 
tude of persons, who before had:been looking on, in silent observance- 
of what was passing,' advanced to salute him, and, falling behind him, 
followed to the court-house. On reaching the door, they found it ef- 
fectually blocked up by half a dozen soldiers, who stood in and about,. 
as if by accident and inadvertence. But the unaccommodating stiff- 
ness with which each maintained his position, left no doubt that they 
were there by design. They were silent, but their brutish counte- 
nances spoke their, purpose and feelings. Mr. Trevor might have en- 
deavored in vain to force his passage, had not the weight of the crowd 
behin depressed him ■through the door. In this process he was exposed 
to some suffering, but made no complaint. The effect appeared only 
in the flush of his cheek, and the twitching of his features. The 
blood of Douglas began to boil, and, for the first time in his life, the 
uniform he had so long worn was hateful in his sight. 

On entering the house, they were nearly deafened with the din. It 
proceeded from quite a small number, but they made amends for their 
deficiency in this respect, by clamorously shouting their hurras for the 
President, and his favored candidate. Besides the soldiery, there were 
present the sheriff, who conducted the election, and some twenty or 
thirty of the lowest rabble. On the bench were two candidates. The 
countenance of one of those was flushed with insolent triumph. The 
other looked pale and agitated. He was placed between his competitor 
and a subaltern officer of the United States army. He seemed to have 
been saying something, and at the moment when Mr. Trevor and his 
party entered, was about to withdraw. 

Meeting him at the foot of the stair leading down from the bench, 
that gentleman asked him the meaning of what he saw; to which he 
answered that he had been compelled to withdraw. The meeting of 
these two gentlemen had attracted attention, and curiosity to hear what 
might pass between them, for a moment stilled the many-tongued 
clamor. Mr. Trevor took advantage of the temporary silence, and said 

aloud " You have been compelled to withdraw. Speak out distinctly, 

then, and say that you are no longer a candidate." 

" Fellow-citizens," responded the other, in the loudest tones his 
trernor enabled him to command, " I am no longer a candidate." 


"And I am a candidate," cried Mr. Trevor, in a voice which 
rang through the house. I am a candidate on behalf of Virginia, 
her Rights, and her Sovereignty." 

The shout from behind the bar, at this annunciation, somewhat 
daunted the blue coats, and Mr. Trevor was lifted to the bench on the 
shoulders of his friends; when .the officer was heard to cry out, " Close 
the polls." 

" Place me near that officer," said Mr. Trevor, in a quiet tone. The 
sheriff, a worthy, but timid man, looked at him imploringly; He was 
set down by the side of the officer, and, leaning on the shoulder of 
Douglas, thus addressed him : 

" I shall say nothing, sir," said he, " to the sheriff about his duty. 
He is the judge of that, and he knows that, without my consent, he 
has no right to close the polls before sunset. Unless compelled by 
force, he will not do it. Be shall not be compelled by force ; and, if 
force is used, I shall know whence it comes. Now mark me, sir ; I 
am determined that this election shall go on, and that peaceably. If 
force is used, it must be used first on me. Now, sir, my friends are 
numerous and brave, and well armed, and I warn you that my fall will 
be the signal of your doom. Not one of your bayonetted crew would 
leave this house alive. As to you, sir, I keep my eye upon you. You 
stir not from my side, till the polls are closed. I hold you as a hostage 
for the safety of the sheriff. If an attack is made on him, I shall 
know you for the instigator. And, more than that, sir, I know he is 
disposed to do his duty, and will not think of closing the polls prema- 
turely. A menace addressed to him may escape my ear. If he offers 
to do it, if he does but open his mouth to declare that the polls are 
closed, I blow your brains out on the spot." 

Suiting the action to the word, he, at the same moment, showed a 
pistol, the finish of which gave assurance that it would not miss fire. 
The officer started back in evident alarm, and made a movement to 
withdraw; but he found himself hedged in by brawny countrymen, 
who closed around him, while every hand was seen to gripe the handle 
of some concealed weapon. 

" Be patient, sir," said Mr. Trevor, " you had no business here ; but, 
being here, you shall remain. No harm shall be done you. I will en- 
sure you against every thing but the consequences of your own vio- 
lence. Offer none. For if you do but lift your hand, or touch your 
weapons, or utter one word to your myrmidons, you die." 

These words were uttered in a tone in which, though loud enough to 
be heard by all, there was as much of mildness as of firmness. Indeed 


his last fearful expression was actually spoken as in kindness. The 
officer seemed to take it so, and quietly seated himself. 

Not so the rival candidate. He rose, with a great parade of indig- 
nation, saying — -" Let me pass, at least. This is no place for me." 

" Do you mean to leave us, sir," said Mr. Trevor, with great cour- 

" I do," said the other. " To what purpose should I remain ?" 

" Do you then decline ? Are you no longer a candidate ?" 

" I am — but I will not remain here be%et by armed violence." 

" Will you leave no one to represent you ?" 

" No — I leave you to work your will. I have no farther part in the 
matter. I shall do nothing, and consent to nothing. When the law 
closes the poll, it will be closed." 

Saying this, he withdrew, and Mr. Trevor observed that, as he went 
out, he spoke aside to the sergeant of the company, who followed him 
from the house. Soon after, the men, one by one, dropped off, and all 
at length disappeared. 

The election now went on peaceably, and nearly every vote was cast 
for Mr. Trevor. But it did not escape his observation that there were 
persons present whom, he knew to be hostile to him, and devoted to the 
rulers at Washington, who yet did not vote. He saw the motive of this 
conduet, but determined to make it manifest to others as well as him- 
self, and to expose the disingenuous and unmanly artifice which he saw 
his enemies were using against him. Catching the eye of a well 
dressed man he said, " You h^.ve not voted, I think, Mr. A ?" 

" I have not," was the answer, " and I don't mean to vote." 

" I beg that you will, sir/' said Mr. Trevor. " I know you to be my 
enemy, personal as well as political ; but I sincerely wish the name of 
every voter in the county to appear on the poll-book, though my defeat 
should be the consequence." 

"It may be so, sir," replied the other; " but I shall not vote at an 
election controlled by force, and where those commissioned by the 
Government to keep order, are either driven off or detained in du- 

" I do not understand you, sir," said Mr. Trevor. " Am I to infer 
that the presence of the military here is under the avowed orders of 
their master ?" 

" I dare say," replied the other, " that Lieutenant Johnson will show 
you his orders,, if you will condescend to look at them." 

" I will do so, with great pleasure," said Mr. Trevor, " and promise 
myself great edification frcm the perusal." 


"I will read the.n, sir," said the officer, taking a paper from his 
pocket, which he read accordingly in the following words : 

" As there is reason to believe that evil disposed persons design to 
overawe or disturb the election of members to the Legislature from the 

county of , Lieutenant Johnson will attend at the day and place 

of election with the troops under his command, for the purpose of pre- 
serving order. Should his authority be opposed, he is, if permitted-to 
do so, to make known that he, acts by the command of the President, 
to the end that all who may be disposed to resist him, may be duly 
warned that in so doing they resist the authority of the United States, 
and take heed lest they incur the penalties of the law." 

" Why, this is well," said Mr. Trevor. " And it is to give color and 
countenance to a charge of resistance to the authority of the United 
States, that you, Mr. A , refuse to vote." 

" No, sir," replied A , " it is because I never will vote at an elec- 
tion controlled by force." 

"Be it so, sir," said Mr. Trevor. "I perceive your drift. Go, then, 
and tell your master that the means used to vindicate the freedom of 
election were used to control it. Go, sir, and show that you are as much 
an enemy to truth and honor as to me." 

To this A made no reply, and soon after withdrew. Indeed, 

hardly any person remained but the friends of Mr. Trevor, and it was 
obvious that the result of the election was not to be changed by any 
votes which could be given. The necessity of keeping open the poll 
till sunset was, nevertheless, imperious. But the scene became dull 
and irksome. Douglas, therefore, proposed that his uncle should re- 
turn home. 

"By no means," said he. "You don't understand this game. 
Should we disband, the sheriff would be required, at the peril of his 
life, to make a false return. But he shall have his will. Mr. Sheriff, 
shall I withdraw also ?" 

" No ! no ! For God's sake, stay, sir I" exclaimed the alarmed 
sheriff; " and either see me home, or take me home with you. I have 
not. the influence which makes you safe in the midst of enemies, and 
am not ashamed to say that I fear my life." 

" I will protect you, then, sir," said Mr. Trevor, " until you have 
made out your return, and given your certificate. When these are 
done, I hope you will be safe." 

The scene again subsided into its former, dullness. The enemy bad- 
disappeared, with the exception of the captive officer, who looked on 


ruefully, while an occasional vote was given at long intervals. At 
length, Mr. Trevor observed that some of the voters were about to 
withdraw. He therefore rose, and begged them to remain. 

" This business is not over," said he. " It is not for nothing that 
the polls are to be kept open until sunset, when all who have not voted 
have withdrawn. Aa attack on the sheriff or myself is certainly in- 
tended. Perhaps on both. I beseech you, therefore, not to disperse, 
but to see us both safe to my house. When once among my own peo- 
ple, I will take care of him and myself. I am sorry, sir," continued 
he, addressing the officer, " that the movements of your friends make 
it necessary to detain you logger than I £!ra intended. You must be 
a hostage for us all, until this day's work is over. But assure yourself 
of being treated with .all courtesy and kindness. Should I even find 
it necessary to compel jour company to my own house, doubt not that you 
will receive every attention due to an honored guest. I beg you to ob- 
serve that I do not even disarm you. The warning you have received 
is my only security that you will attempt no violence." 

This speech was heard in sullen silence by him to whom it was ad- 
dressed. But some conversation with others ensued, in which Mr.. 
Trevor took pains to enlighten the minds of his hearers m regard to 
public affairs. The day .wore away%omewhat less wearily; the sua 
went down, and Bernard Trevor was proclaimed to be duly elected. 

Our parly now took up the line of march. The sheriff and officer 
were placed in Mr. Trevor's barouche ; the former by his side — the 
latter in front of him, by the side of the driver. A numerous compa- 
ny on horsehaek surrounded ttiem. 

They were scarcely in motion, before the drum was heard, and the 
regulars were seen advancing to meet them in military array. Mr. 
Trevor immediately commanded the driver to stop, asid draw his pistol. 
Then calling to the servant on horseback, he made him station himself, 
pistol in hand, close to the officer. Having made this arrangement, 
he addressed him : 

"You see your situation, sir. Those fellows would not scruple to 
shoot your master himself at my bidding ; and my orders to you both, 
boys, are, that if we are attacked, you are both to shoot this gentleman 
upbn the spot. I shall do the same thing, sir ; so that between us you 
cannot escape. Now, sir, stand up and show yourself to your men, 
and speak distinctly the words of command that I shall dictate." 

The officer did as he was directed. The advancing platoon was 
halted, and wheeled backward to the side of the road ; the arms were 
ordered, and the barouche passed on. After passing, a momentary 


stop was made, while the sergeant was ordered to march the men hack 
to their quarters. This was done, and as soon as the two parties were 
at safe distance asunder, Lieutenant Johnson was released, and courte- 
ously dismissed. Mr. Trevor and his friends reached home in safety, 
• and without interruption, and thus ended the election day. 



I tell you, my lord fool, tfiat out of this nettle, Danger, we pluck this flower. 
Safety. Shakspeare. 

The domestic party that we left at the house of Mr. Trevor were va- 
riously affected by the history of the occurrences detailed in the last 
chapter. Arthur had been slightly indisposed, and his uncle had^made 
that a pretext for keeping him out of harm's way. But when he heard 
what had passed, his spirit was. roused, and he felt as a soldier who 
hears the history of some well-fought battle where he was not permitted 
to be present. To Virginia the whole story was a subject of wonder- 
ment and alarm. The idea that her dear uncle, and her dearer broth- 
er, had been engaged in an affair where "dirk and pistol" was the 
word, threw her into a flutter of trepidation. She could not refrain 
from asking the former whether he would have shot the poor man sure 
enough; and received his affirmative answer with a shudder. The 
feelings of Lucia did not much differ from hers, except in intensity. 
She had heard too much to be wholly unprepared for such things, and 
her mind was too much accustomed to take its tone from those of her 
mother and, sister. 

On these ladies the impression made by the events of the day was 
wholly different. If the countenance of Mrs. Trevor was more thought- 
ful than before, it only spoke of higher thoughts. Her eye was bright- 
er, her carriage more erect, her step more free, while' her smile had 
less, perhaps, of. quiet satisfaction, but more of hope. The flutter of 
youthful feelings, and the sweeter and more tender thoughts proper to- 
one newly betrothed, made the chief difference between Delia and her 
mother. But while Douglas saw in the latter all the evidence of those 
high qualities which fit a woman to be not merely the consolation and 
joy of her husband,but his sage adviser and useful friend, he saw enough in 
Delia to show that she, in due time, would be to him all that her moth- 
er was to his uncle. 

A few days afterwards, Mr. B — arrived, and his appearance was a 
signal of joy to the whole family. Douglas now, for the first time, dis- 
covered that he stood in some interesting, though undefined relation to 
them, and especially to his aunt. That there was no connexion of blood 
or marriage he knew; yet the feelings of the parties towards each other 
were mutually filial and paternal. The imposing dignity of Mrs. Tre- 


yor's manner seemed to be surrendered in his presence. Pier maiden 
name of Margaret, which no other lip but that of her husband would 
have ventured to profane, was that by which alone he ever accosted 
her, and that generally accompanied with some endearing.epithet. The 
girls would sit upon his knee, and play familiarly and affectionately 
with his grey locks; while the servants, in the proud humility of their 
attention to his wants and wishes, seemed hardly to distinguish between 
him and their beloved and honored master. It was not to be believed 
that the family kept any secrets from him, so that Douglas could not 
doubt that he was privy to his little affair of the heart. And so he 
was; and his manner toward the young man was, from the first, that of 
a near kinsman, hardly differing in any thing from that of his uncle. 
As far as coincidence of sentiment and similarity of character could ex- 
plain this close intimacy, it stpod explained. Between him and Mr 
Trevor there were many points of strong similitude. But to Mrs. Ti - e- 
vpr the resemblance was more striking. Age and sex seemed to make 
the only difference between them. 

But, in addition to this domestic relation, which embraced every 
member of the household down to the scullion and shoe-black, there 
was obviously some understanding between the gentlemen in regard to 
matters of much higher concernment. Indeed, no pains were taken to 
conceal this fact, though, during Mr. B — 's former visit, Douglas had 
not been admitted to any of their consultations but that which concern- 
ed himself. 

It was not long before the two were soon closeted, in the little study, 
in close conclave; and soon after, a message w&s delivered to Douglas 
requesting his presence. 

"I am the bearer of important intelligence," said B — , holding out 
his hand to the youth as he entered; "and as ,it particularly concerns 
you, as well as your uncle, you must perforce consent to become privy 
to owe council." 

"lam not sorry to hear it," replied Douglas. "If any thing was 
wanting to banish all reserve between us, I would be content to suffer 
some loss to effect that object." 

"I believe you," said B — , "and therefore expect you will the less 
regret an unpleasant circumstance, which, without your act or consent, 
and even in spite of you, binds you in the same bundle with us." 

" That was already done," said Douglas. " What new tie can there 

"One of the strongest. The union of your name with your uncle^s 
in a warrant for high treason from the court of high commission at 


'•'You speak riddles," said Douglas. "The only instance in wh^h I 
ever incurred the displeasure of the President, was one -which no hu- 
man ingenuity could torture into treason; and certainly my uncle had 
no hand in that." 

"But, having then incurred the displeasure of the G-overnmcni, what 
if you should since have been concerned. in any matter which might be 
called treason?" 

"But there has been no such matter." 

"My dear boy," said Mr. Trevor, "the question is not of what we 
have done. Had we actually done any thing culpable, there^would be 
no occasion for this warrant from Washington. Our own courts, and a 
jury of peers, may be trusted to try the guilty. But when men are to 
be tried for what they have not done, then resort must be had to this 
new court of high commission at Washington, and to a jury of office- 

"But where," asked Douglas, "is the warrant of which you speak?" 

"That I cannot exactly say," said B — . "I am not even sure that 
it is yet in existence. But that it is, or will be, is certain. I need not 
explain to you my means of knowledge. Yo t ur uncle is acquainted 
with them, and knows that what I tell you is certain. The transac- 
tions of the election day will be made the subject of a capital charge, 
and it is intended to convey you both to Washington to answer it there. 
I am come to advise you both of this, that you may determine what 
course to pursue." 

"My course is plain," said Douglas. "To meet the charge and refute 

"Are you aware," said B-, "who is the Judge of this court of high 
commission ?" 

"I think I have somehow understood that it is Judge Baker." 

"'The father of your friend, Philip Baker, the younger. Now are 
you aware that, but a few days before the court was constituted, he and 
other judges were consulted, and declared it to be so grossly unconsti- 
tutional that no judge would preside in it." 

"I see that so it should be declared, but did not know that such 
opinion had been given." 

"Yet so it was. Now where, do you think, the considerations were 
found by which the honorable gentleman's honorable scruples were 
overcome? Of course, you cannot conjecture. You would find it, all 
too late, if you, by placing yourself in his power, afforded him an op- 
portunity of gratifying the malice of his son, without exposing his 
cowardice and meanness. I see you doubt my means of knowledge. 
Your uncle told me nothing of young Whiting's communication to the 


President. Yet I knew of it. I know," continued B — , not regard- 
ing the amazement of Douglas, " that, but for that letter, you would 
not have been permitted to resign; and that Judge Baker's scruples 
about presiding in this new court were overcome by hushing up the 
enquiry, which would have dishonored his son, and substituting a pro- 
ceeding which should number you among the victims of his power, 
without implicating the name of his son. As to my means of know- 
ledge, when knaves can get honest men to be the instruments of their 
villainy, they may expect not to be betrayed. Until then, they must 
bear the fate of all who work with sharp tools." 

"There can be no doubt," said Mr. Trevor, "of the fate prepared 
for us, should we fall into the hands of our enemies. To be summoned 
to trial before a court constituted for the sole purpose of entertaining- 
prosecutions which cannot be sustained elsewhere, is to be notified of a 
sentence already passed. To obey such a summons, is to give the neck 
to the halter. The question is, then, what is to be done to evade it. 
Our friend B — proposes that your brother and sister be-sent home, and 
that« you and I, and my family, withdraw to Carolina. How say you?' 

"I have the same difficulty that I had the other day, about tendering 
my resignation. But, in this instance, it appears with more force. To 
fly from justice is always taken as evidence of conscious guilt." 

"About that," said Mr. Trevor, "I feel small concern on my own ac- 
count, as I certainly mean to commit what all who deny the sovereignty 
of Virginia will call high treason." 

"Then why not take up arms at once? I have much misunderstood 
appearances, since I have been here, if the means not of evading, but 
resisting this attack, are not already organized." 

"The time is-not yet ripe for action," said Mr. Trevor. "Had it 
been so, I should not have waited nntil my own head was in jeopardy, 
before striking the blow. Nor should my own personal danger precipi- 
tate it." 

"But what fitter time can there be to eall the people to arms, than 
at this moment, when their minds are heated by the late violent inva- 
sion of the elective franchise? What more exciting spectacle could 
be presented than the sight of a citizen seized as a traitor, and dragged 
away in chains, to answer, before an unconstitutional tribunal, for main- 
taining this franchise ?" 

" Are you then prepared to resist, at the point of the bayonet, this 
unconstitutional warrant, as a thing void and of no authority?" 
« "I am" replied Douglas, with energy. "And I will say more," 
said he, speaking with solemn earnestness. "I have seen enough. to 
make my duty plain; and I am' prepared tc- go as far as you, yourself, 


in asserting and maintaining the sovereignty of Virginia at every haz- 

"That being the case," said B — , "as you will not disagree' about 
the end, you must not differ about the means, nor lose time in discuss- 
ing them. We are not thinking of this subject for the first time. We 
see the whole ground, and act under the influence of considerations 
which we have no lime to detail. Are you then, my young friend, pre- 
pared to give us so much of your confidence as this. We say to you, 
'Go with us where we go, and, trust our assurance that when we have 
leisure to explain all, you will find our plan the best.' Are you con- 
tent? Are you now ready to carry into execution our matured plan, so 
far as it has been disclosed to you, trusting all the details to us? Re- 
member — if you say yes to this, we stop no more to deliberate or ex- 
plain until we are in a place of safety. Until then, you place yourself 
under orders; and you have learned how to obey. How say you? 
Are you content?" . 

Douglas paused, reflected a minute or two, and then, extending a 
hand to Mr. B — , and one to his uncle, said earnestly: "I am; com- 
mand, and I will obey. But which of you am I to obey?" 

"Mr. B — ," said- Mr. Trevor, "under whose command I now place 

. "Then to business," said B — . "Warn your brother, at once, of the 
necessity of returning home with your sister, and see that he makes 
the needful preparations for his departure at an early hour to morrow. 
The boy's heart will have some hankerings that will make it necessary 
for you to look after him, and urge him to exertion. You, Trevor, 
must expedite the. arrangements for the removal of your family. Pass 
the word to Margaret and Delia. You may trust much to their efii- 
ciency. I am afraid we cannot expect much more from my poor little 
Lucia, just now, than from Arthur. Now, Trevor, give me the keys of 
your arm-room; let Douglas join me there, as soon as he has set Ar- 
thur to work, and, in the meantime, send Jack to me there. I will 
play quartermaster, while you make arrangements for the muster of 
the black watch." 

"The black watch!" said Douglas, with an enquiring look. 

"Aye," said B — , "The sidier dhu — the trusty body guard of a Vir- 
ginia gentleman. His own faithful slaves." 

"The slaves!" said Douglas. "What use shall we have for them?" 

"I have no time to answer now," said B — . "Ask me that when 
you come to me in the arm-room. At present you must attend to Ar- 
thur. We have no time to lose." 

Douglas now remembered his enlistment, and betook himself, with 
the prompt alacrity of an old soldier, to the fulfilmeDt of his orders. 



''I have nursed him at this withered breast," said the old •woman, folding 
her hands on her bosom as if pressing an infant to it; "and man, can nevei 
ken what woman feels for the bairn that she has first held to her bosom." 


Poor Arthur ! B — had predicted too truly that his heart would 
have some hankerings at the thought of leaving the house where he 
had, of late, spent so many pleasant hours. It is so long that I have 
said nothing about him, that the reader may think him forgotten, 01 
may, himself, have forgotten that there was such a person. He had : 
in truth, no part in the .transactions of which we have been speaking 
He was at that time of life when the mind, chameleon like, .takes its 
hue from surrounding objects. He was too young to be advised with, 
or trusted with important secrets. I have already mentioned that, on 
the day of the election, he had been detained at home by indisposition. 
But he had heard of the occurrences of that day; and he was, more- 
over, unconsciously exposed to influences from every member of the 
family, all 'tending to the same point. Least apparent, but not least 
efficacious, was that of his cousin Lucia. They were of that age when 
hearts, soft and warm, grow together by mere contact. With thought 
of love, but without thinking of it, they had become deeply enamored 
of each other. The thing come about so simply and so naturally, that 
the result alone needs to be told. 

They were to part, and the thought of parting first made them both 
feel that something was the matter. They talked of the separation, 
and Lucia shed some tears. Arthur kissed them off, and then she 
smiled ; and then she wept again ; and then they agreed never to for- 
get each other; and .so on, till the secret was out, and their innocent 
hearts were fondly plighted. 

Such things do not pass unmarked by older eyes. The maternal 
instinct of Mrs. Trevor, and the sagacity of her husband, had detected 
that of which the parties themselves were unconscious. And now, in the 
few hours that they were to remain together, occupied as the old peo- 
ple were with important engagements, neither the glowing cheek, the 
swimming eye, and the abstracted look of Lucia, nor the rapt enthusi- 
asm of Arthur's countenance, escaped observation. But as no dis- 
closure was made of what had passed; their fancied privacy was not in- 


vaded by question or insinuation. They were too young to marry, and 
secret love is so sweet ! Why not let the innocent creatures enjoy the 
idea that their attachment was not suspected ? Their friends smiled 
indeed, but tenderly, not significantly. To them, they did but seem 
kinder than ever; and that, at a moment when they were most sensi- 
ble to kindness, and most ready to reciprocate it. In this heart-search- 
ing sympathy, Arthur found himself indissolubly united to the destiny, 
the opinions, and the feelings, whatever 'these might be, of those who 
so loved his dear Lucia. 

But I am not writing a love tale. I am but interested that the 
reader should understand by what process two principal actors in the 
scenes of which I am about to speak, were diverted from a zealous de- 
votion to the authority of the United States, in which they had been 
educated, to a devotion yet more enthusiastic in the cause of Virginia. 
Enough of them has been seen to show that I must be anxious to vin- 
dicate them from any charge of inconsistency. I trust the reader 
enters into this feeling, and deems them worthy of it. If he requires 
any farther account of the causes which wrought so great a change, I 
Lave none to give. It was through their eyes and hearts that convic- 
tion entered. Outrage to the laws ; outrage to the freedom of elec- 
tion ; outrage to one respected and beloved ; left nothing for reason to 
do. Doubtless much had been said to them by their uncle and Mr. 
B— , in explanation of the great principles of the American Union, 
which had been trampled on by the Federal Government. But I am 
not aware tha^any ideas were presented to their minds on this subject, 
with which the reading public had not been familiar for twenty years 
before, and I shall not repeat them here. Let us rather accompany 
Douglas to Mr. Trevor's magazine of arms. It was in a garret room, 
where he found Mr. B — busy in the examination of arms, a»d por- 
tioning out ammunition, with the aid of Jack. 

" You come in good time," said B — . " Here is work that you 
understand. Come help me to examine these arms, and see that they 
are all ciean, dry, and well flinted." 

" What do you propose to do with them 1" asked Douglas, lending a 
hand to the work. 

" We propose," said B — , " to arm the negroes in defence of their 
master, in case of need." 

" But what need can there be, if we set out for Carolina in the 
morning ?" 

" They may be wanted before' morning," said B— , coolly. " Lieu- 
tenant Jtfhnson left the county on the night of the election, and travel- 
led express to Washington. His intelligence was anticipated, and, no 


doubt, the warrants were all ready before lie got there. I dare say 
they had a ready-made affidavit for him to swear to. This plot was 
got up so suddenly, that I was hardly advised of it in time. But I 
hope it is not too late. I have no mind to fire the train too "soon.. I 
would rather you should get off peaceably, but, if we do come to blows, 
I shall take care that the blue-coats have the worst of it." 

" You move in this business," said Douglas, " like a man not unused 
to danger. I presume you have taken the precaution to warn in the 
hardy and resolute neighbors, whom I saw stand by my uncle the other 

" By no means," answered B. "Were we so minded, we could com- 
mand a force that would demolish any that will be sent against us. 
But Jt is not desirable to show the strength of our hand. I should be 
glad, if possible, that the temper of the people were unsuspected. At 
the same time, there is an exhibition to be made, which will have a 
good effect on friend and foe, — I mean an exhibition of the staunch 
loyalty and heart-felt devotion of the slave to his master. We must 
show that that which our enemies, and some even of ourselves, con- 
sider as our weakness, is, in truth, our strength." 

" Is such your own clear opinion ?" asked Douglas. " I have lived 
so long in the North, that I have imbibed too many of the ideas that 
prevail there. But, on this point, it appears to me that they must be 

" You have not lived there long enough," said B — , " to forget your 
earliest and strongest attachments. You had a black nurse, I presume. 
Do you love her ?" 

"My mammy!" exclaimed Douglas; "to be sure I do. T should 
be the most ungrateful creature on earth, if I did not love one who 
loves me like a mother." 

"And your foster-brother?" asked B — ; "and his brothers' and 
sisters? Do not they, too, love him their mother loves so fondly?" 

" I have no doubt they do, especially as I have always been kind to 

" From these, then, I presume, you would fear nothing. Then 
your brothers and sisters. They, too, have their mammies and foster- 
brethren. Among you, you must have a strong hold on the hearts of 
many of your father's slaves. Would they, think you, taken as a body, 
rise against your family ?" 

"I have not the least apprehension that they would/' replied 

"Yet they, thus considered, are one integral part of the great black 
family, which, in all its branches, is united by similar ligaments to the . 


great white Family. You have the benefit of the parental feeling of the 
old who nursed your infancy, and watched your growth. You have 
the equal friendship of those with whom you ran races, and played at 
bandy, and wrestled in your boyhood. If sometimes a dry blow passed 
between you, they love you none the less for that ; because, unless you 
were differently trained from what is common among our boys, you 
were taught not to claim any privilege, in a fight, over those whom you 
treated as equals in play. Then you have the grateful and admiring 
affection of the little urchin whose head you patted when you came 
home, .making him proud by asking his name, and his mammy's name, 
and his daddy's name. These are the filaments which the heart puts 
out to lay hold on what it clings to. Great interests, like large 
branches, are too stiff to twine. These are the fibres from which the 
ties that bind man to man are spun: The finer the staple, the stronger 
the cord. You will probably see its strength exemplified before morn- 
ing. There are twenty true hearts which will shed their last drop, be- 
fore one hair of your uncle's head shall fall." 

" You present the, matter in a new light," said Douglas, "I wish 
our northern brethren could be made to take the same view of it." 

" Our northern brethren, as you call them," said B — , " never can 
take this view of it. They have not the qualities which would enable 
them to comprehend the negro character. Their calculating selfish- 
ness can never understand his disinterested devotion. Their artificial 
benevolence is no interpreter of the affections of the unsophisticated 
heart. They think our friend Jack here to be even such as themselves, 
and cannot, therefore, conceive that he is not ready to cut his master's 
throat, if there is any thing to be got by it. They know no more of 
the feelings of our slaves, than their fathers could comprehend of the 
loyalty of the gallant cavaliers from whom we spring; and for the same 
treason. The generous and self- renouncing must ever be a riddle to 
the selfish. The only instance in which they have ever seemed to 
understand us, has been in the estimate they have made of our at- 
tachment to a Union, the benefits of which have all been theirs, the 
burthens ours. Reverse the case, and they would have dissolved the 
partnership thirty years ago. But they have presumed upon the dif- 
ference between us, and heaped oppression on oppression, until we can 
bear no more. But, when we throw off the yoke, they will still not 
understand us. They will impute to us none but selfish motives, and 
take no note of the scorn and loathing which their base abuse of our 
better feelings has awakened. Would they but forbear so much as 
not to force us to hate and despise them, they might still use us as 
their hewers of wood and drawers of water. But he who gives all 


where he loves, will give nothing where he detests. But this, too, is a 
riddle to them." 

*'I must Own," said Douglas, " that these ideas are new to me, too." 

"Not the ideas, but the application of them. Three months ago, 
you were the devoted soldier of Martin Van Buren. Had you then 
believed him capable of a conspiracy so base as that which has been 
plotted against your honor and life, could you still have served him ?" 

" I should still have wished to serve my country," replied Douglas; 
" but I should, probably, have doubted whether I could have served 
her in serving him." 

"And do you think you would view the matter differently, had an- 
other been the intended victim, and not yourself?" 

" I trust not. My personal concern in the affair, I think, has done 
no more than to emancipate me from my thraldom. But the display of 
his character is what makes me detest him; and the scenes of the 
election day have opened my eyes to the wrongs and the rights, and 
the interests of Virginia. The scales have now fallen from them, and 
I am impatient for the day when I may apply in her service the lessons 
learned in the school of her oppressors." 

" v "^ ghall have your wish," said B — . " The flint you are now fit- 
ting may yet be snapped against the myrmidons of the usurper." 



Osric — How is it, Laertes? 

jLaertei — Why as a woodcock to my own spring, Osric. 


While this conversation was going on, the arms had been all ex- 
amined, loaded, and ranged against the wall, and due portions of pow- 
der and ball allotted to each firelock. Their work being nearly com- 
pleted, Douglas was dispatched with some message to His uncle. .As 
he descended the stairs, he heard, not without a smile, the , quick im- 
patient step of Arthur, pacing to and fro, the length of a passage lead- 
ing from the front door through the building. Arthur was just turn- 
ing at the end next to the door, when a rap on the knocker arrested 
him. The door was instantly opened, and he was heard to ask some 
one to walk in. It was night, and the passage was dark. Arthur con- 
ducted the stranger to the door of his uncle's study, which was his 
common reception room, ushered him in, drew back, and having closed 
the door behind him, resumed his musing promenade. 

■Douglas went on suspecting nothing. He was not aware that the 
servants had been cautioned against admitting strangers; and poor 
Arthur was not au fait to what was passing. He entered the room. 
His uncle had risen from his chair in the corner farthest from the 
door, and was standing behind a large table, at which he usually wrote. 
He heard him say : " Please to be seated, sir," in a voice between com- 
pliment and command, and with a countenance in which courtesy and 
fierceness were strangely blended. As the stranger, not regarding this 
stern invitation, continued to advance, the glare of the old man's eye 
became fearful, and he laid his hand on a pistol which lay on the tabla 
before him. "Stand back, sir," said he, in a low and resolute tone. 
" Stand back, on your life." 

The stranger wore a long surtout, in which Douglas, dazzled by com- 
ing into the light, did not at first discover the usual ch&ractesisties of 
an ofiicer's undress. It was thrown open in front, and the badges of 
his rank were displayed to Mr. Trevor, who stood before him. He was 
arrested by Mr. Trevor's startling words and gesture, and was begin- 
ning to speak, when Douglas exclaimed : " What does this mea-n ?" 

The stranger turned, extended both his arms, and Douglas rushed 
into them. 


"My dear Trevor!" " My dear Whiting!" were the mutual excla- 
mations of two young men, who had long been to each other as 

"To what on earth," asked Douglas, " do I owe this pleasure?" 

"I come," said the other, with a melancholy smile, and in the kind- 
est tone, while he still held the hand of Douglas, "to make you 

Douglas started violently,»and tried to disengage his hand; hut the 
other held him firmly and went on: "Be calm, my dear fellow. I am 
your friend as ever, but yet I do not jest. You are my prisoner, on 
the absurd charge of high treason against the United States. My war- 
rant is against you and your uncle. As it was thought a mi ifary force 
might be wanted to support the arrest, I volunteered myself to receive 
a deputation from the marshal, that I might shield you both from any 
indignity. You, on your part, I am sure, will do nothing to make my 

task more painful than it is. Is not that gentleman bless me ! 

where is he? Was not that Mr. Bernard Trevor who just left the 
•room?" *-?> 

" I am Mr. Bernard Trevor," said a voice behind. Whiting.turned 
again, and saw Mr. Trevor standing where he had been before. He 
now observed that there was a door beside him, at which he had step- 
ped out and returned. "I am Mr. Bernard Trevor, sir, and am sorry 
that I cannot welcome, as I would, the friend of my nephew. You see 
that I have no mind to leave the room, and I therefore hope you will 
content yourself to accept my invitation to be seated. You say that 
you wish to shield me from indignity. Of course, you will not un- 
necessarily offer what I shall feel as much. The hand of authority 
must not be laid on me." 

"I shall gladly dispense with an unpleasant form, sir," said Whiting, 
"and I trust I shall have the satisfaction of convincing you that my 
errand, though painful to all of us, is an errand of friendship." 

" I have no doubt of it, sir. I have heard of you from my nephew, 
and from under your own hand, in terms that give full assurance of 
that. I shall be happy, therefore, to do by you all the duties of hos- 
pitality. I merely ask of you to give your word of honor, that, while 
charged with your present lunctions, you will be careful not to touch 
my person." 

" L should be most happy," said the young man, "to take by the 
hand one whom I so highly respect, but I find I must forego that 
pleasure; and I give the required pledge most cheerfully." 

The courteous old gentleman now summoned Tom, and ordered some 
refreshment for his guest; then throwing into his manner all ti ■ -■ t-^uk 


courtesy of a polished Virginian, he led the way in a desultory con- 
versation on all sorts of indifferent subjects. Half an hour passed in 
this way, when Tom appeared and summoned the geritlemen to supper. 

" I fear," said Whiting, " I am abusing my authority over my poor 
fellows without. I have a sergeant and half a dozen men waiting at the 
eafce, on whose behalf I would fain invoke your hospitality. But it 
would be much more agreeable to me, if you and my friend Douglas 
wilt' pass your words that their aid shall not be necessary, and permit 
me to order them back to the next public house." 

" I am sorry to say," replied Mr. Trevor, " that I cannot do either ; 
but I pray you to postpone the discussion until after supper." 

" How, sir V exclaimed Whiting. " You surely do not mean to try to 
escape me." 

"Nothing is farther from my thoughts, sir," said the old man, with a 
proud smile, " than to try to escape you, or permit you to escape me." 
..-" To escape you, sir ! What do you mean 1" asked Waiting. 

" I mean not to wound your ear with a word I would not have en- 
dured to' have applied to myself. I will not say that you are my 
prisoner; but I will say that tee will leave this house as free as you 
entered it. Come, my dear sir, while I endeavor to requite your 
courtesy, permit me also to appropriate your words, and say, as you 
said to Douglas, that I trust you will not render it necessary to avail 
ourselves of our superior force." 

" I am not sure you possess that superiority," said Whiting; " I have 
a strong guard without." 

" But they are without, and you are within. Besides, you will be 
readily excused from availing yourself of them, when it is known that 
they are prisoners, in close custody." 

"Prisoners!" exclaimed Whiting. "To whom?" 

"To my negro#," said Mr. Trevor. 

" Regular soldiers prisoners to negroes!" said Whiting, in amaze- 
ment. "It is not credible; and you manifestly speak by conjecture, 
as you have had no means of communicating with your friends with- 

"I am not in the habit, young gentleman," said Mr. Trevor, in a 
tone of grave rebuke, " of speaking positively, when I speak by con- 
jecture. My orders were, that I should not be called to supper until 
they were secured. As to the strangeness of the affair," continued he, 
resuming his cheerful and good-humored smile, " think nothing of 
that. Remember that night is what the negroes call 'their time of 
day.' The eagle is no match for the owl in the dark. The thing is as 
I tell you ; so make yourself easy, and let me have the pleasure of do- 



ing the duties of hospitality by my nephew's friend. You shall not be 
unnecessarily detained. We must ask the pleasure of your company 
for a three hours' ride across the line in the morning. I will there 
give you a clear acquittance against all the responsibility you may have- 
incurred, for what you have done, or left undone ; and, as soon as you 
return, to restrain your men from acts of license, they shall be given 
up to you." 

There was no remonstrating against this arrangement; and Lieuten- 
ant Whiting, putting the best face he "could on the matter, permitted 
himself to be conducted to supper. 

At the head of the supper table stood, as usual, Mrs. Trevor. She 
seemed some six inches higher than common, her cheek flushed, her 
nostrils spread, her eye beaming; yet with all her high feelings sub- 
dued to the duties of hospitality and courtesy. She met and returned 
the salutation of Whiting with the stately grace of a high-bred lady, 
and then her eye glanced to her husband with a look- of irrepressible 
pride. His glance answered it, and, as they stood for a moment facing- 
each other at the opposite ends of the table, Whiting felt a sense of 
admiring awe, such as the presence of majesty in full court had never 
inspired. But this feeling, in a moment, passed away, with its Cause. 
The urbanity of the gentleman and the suavity of the lady soon re- 
moved all the painfulness of constraint, and the evening .passed as it 
should, pass between persons who in heart were friends. 

Neither Mr. B — nor Arthur made their appearance. The girls, 
indeed, were present. The air and manner of Delia reflected those of 
her mother. Virginia looked a little alarmed, and Lucia blushing, 
tender, and abstracted. The interest of the realities that surrounded 
her could not quite dispel the visions of excited fancy. 

With these exceptions, which a stranger would not • observe, every 
thing passed as in the company of an invited and cterished guest; and 
Whiting could not be sorry, at heart, that he had been baffled in his 
attempt to disturb so sweet a domestic party. The evening wore away 
not unpleasantly, and he retired to rest in the same room with Douglas, 
to guard him, or be guarded by him, according as it suited his fancy 
to consider himself or his friend as the other's prisoner. 

A word of explanation is due on the subject of the captive guard, 
which will be given in the next chapter. 



Massa mighty cunning — watch he nigger like a hawk^ 
But nigger lite a owl — he watch massa in e dark. 

Jim Crow. 

The first words which passed between Mr. Trevor and Lieuten- 
ant Whiting, had been overheard by Tom, w%o was in the act of leav- 
ing the room at the moment. He gave the alarm to tiis mistress, who, 
hastening tfl her husband, met him at the door, and just received from 
him the instructions already mentioned. She immediately sent for Mr. 
B — , who, with Jack's aid, was in the act of distributing arms and 
ammunition to the negroes. To him the management of the whole 
affair was committed. No doubt was entertained that Lieutenant Whit- 
ing had not come unattended. The first thing to be done was to ascer- 
tain the force by which he was supported, and the place where he had 
posted his men. 

They, meantime, quietly awaited the return of their officer at the 
great gate, a quarter of a mile from the house. Rather as a point of 
military etiquette than from an idea that any precaution was necessary, 
they had stacked their arms in form before the gate, and stationed a 
sentinel, wb/), with bead erect and military step, walked his post in 
front of them. They had not long been there, before they heard a 
negro's voice, who, as he approached from the house, sung merrily a 
a song, of which only the following lines could be distinguished : 

"Peep froo de winder:; see break o' day; 
" Run down to riber.; canoe gone away. 
" Put foot in water; water mighty cold; 
"Hear O'sur call me ; hear Missis scold. 
"O dear ! my dear ! what shall I do ? 
" My Massa whip me, cause I love you.' 1 

The song ceased, and oaffee advanced in silence, but with a heavy 
•swinging step, that rung audibly on the hard ground. As soon as his 
dusky figure began to be distinguishable, which was not until he was 
■quite near, he was arrested by the sharp challenge of the sentry. 

" High !" exclaimed the .negro, in a tone of amazement and alarm : 
41 Law-Gorramity ! whatdis?" 


"Advance!" said the sentinel, mechanically, " and give the coun- 

" What dat, Massa ? I never see sich a ting in my life." 

" Advance I" repeated the sentry, bringing his piece dowsi "with a 
rattling .sound against his right side. 

The metal glimmered in the light from the windows. The negro 
caught the gleam, and, falling flat on his face, roared lustily for mercy. 

The Sergeant now .went to him, raised him up, calmed his fears, and> ? 
as soon as he could be made to understand any thing, asked if Lieu- 
tenant Whiting was at the house. 

" I hear 'em say, sir, one mighty grand gentleman went there while 
ago. Old Tom say, he Mass Douglas' old crony, and Massa and Mass 
Douglass, and all, mighty glad to see- him." 

" The devil they are !" said the Sergeant. " Well, I h§pe they'll be 
mighty glad to see us, too. I do not care how soon, for this night air 
is something of the sharpest; and I have drawn better rations than we 
had at that damned tavern. I say, darkee; the old man keeps good 
liquor, and plenty of belly-timber, don't he ?" 

" Ah, Lord ! Yes, Massa, I reckon he does. But it an't much I 
knows about it. Old Massa mighty hard man, sir. Poor negur don't 
see much o' he good ting." 

" But, I suppose, he gives his friends a plenty ?" 

"Oh, to be sure, sir! Massa mighty proud. Great gentleman come 
see him, he aint got nothing too good for him. But poor'white folks 
and poor negur ! — pshaw !" 

" A bad look out for us, Rogers," said the Sergeant to one of his 
men. " Damn the old hunks, I hope he don't mean to* leave us to 
bivouack here all night. Well, we must wait our hour, as the Lieu- 
tenant told us, and then he'll come back to us, or we have to march to 5 
the house. Damn it I I shall be pretty sharp set by that time, and, if 
it comes to that, the old gentleman's kitchen and wine-cellar may look 
out for a storm." 

" You talk like you hungry, Massa," said the negro, in a tone of 
sympathy. " I mighty sorry I an't got nothing to give you." 

" But could not you get something, cuffee ? Is there no key to your 
master's cellar and smoke-house besides the one he keeps? Don't you 
think, now, you could get us some of his old apple-brandy ? I hear he 
has it of all ages." 

" Ah, Lord, Massa; dat you may be sure of. I hear old Tom say 
brandy dare older an he ; and he most a hundred. 'Spose I bring you 
some o' dat, Massa, what you gwine give me ?" 

" Will a quarter do for a bottle of it V 


" Law, Massa ! why lie same like gold. Half a dolla, Ma'ssa !" 

" Well, bring us a bottle of the right old stuff, mind ! — and you shall 
hare half a dollar. And see, darkee ; cannot you bring us. a little cold 
bread and meat ?" 

''I don't know, Massa, what de cook say. I try her." 

" Well, go; and, whi e your hand is in, help yourself well. If the 
liquor is good, may be we'll take two or three bottles." 

" Well/ Massa, I try old Tom. He keep de key- Ah, Lord ! Old 
Massa tink Tom mighty desperate honest ; and he tihk Tom love him 
so — belter an he own self. He -better niind; one o' dese days Tom 
show him how dat is." 

" I don't think you love him much yourself, Samba" 

" Who ? — I, Massa ? My name Jack, sir. Lord, no sir ! What I 
love him for ? Hard work and little bread, and no meat ? No, Massa, 
I love soldier ; cause I hear 'em aay soldier eome after a while, set poor 
nigur free." 

" That is true enough. I hope it will not be long before we set you 
all free from these damned man-stealers. How would you like to go 
with us r 

" Lord, Massa, you joking. Go wid you ? I reckon the old man 
find it right hard to get somebody to saddle his horse if all our folks 
was here." 

" Well, euffee, the old man's in hockley by this time ; and wben*we 
march him off in the morning, you will have nobody to stop you. But 
bring us the brandy, and then we'll talk about it." 

"Ees, Massa! tank ye, Massa! But, Massa, I got two boys big as 
me, and my brother, and my wife,"and all; I don't want to leave them. 
And, Massa, my boys got some apples. You want some, sir ?" 

" To be sure I do. Bring them along; but mind and bring the 
brandy, at all events." 

The negro disappeared, and the soldiers occupied themselves in dis- 
dussing the means of making a profitable speculation on their dispo- 
sition to leave their master. They were still on this topic when they 
heard Jaclg returning, with several more. One brought a chunk of 
fire; another a basket of apples; another one of eggs; a fourth came 
provided with some cold provisions ; Jack himself brandished a cou- 
ple of bottles of brandy ; and one of his boys brought a pint of water 
and a tin cup. The liquor was tasted, approved,- paid for, and eagerly 
swallowed. A torch of light-wood being kindled, a chaffering com- , 
menced, interrupted by occasional allusions t§ the interesting subjects 
of slavery, hard masters, and emancipation. The brandy, however, 
chiefly engaged the attention of the soldiers. The sentry, whose duty 


was but formal, was permitted to join, as the guns were but a few feet 
off, just without the gate, which stood open. The light of the torch 
glittered strongly on the arms, and seemed to make all things distinct, 
while in fact its unsteady flickering did little more than dazzle their 
eyes. The negro held it aloft, and, as if to brighten the flame, occa- 
sionally waved it to and fro. Suddenly it dropped from his hand into 
the pail of water, and in an instant the blackness of impenetrable dark- 
ness shrouded e # very eye. , 

At the same moment, a heavy trampling, as from a rush of many 
feet, was heard without the gate, and a shivering clash from the stack 
of arms, as if it had fallen down. The soldiers • groped their way to- 
wards it feeling where they supposed it to be. They felt in vain. They 
winked hard, as if to free their eyes from the blinding impression left 
by the flaring light, then opened them and looked about. Judge their 
astonishment, when, as they begun to recover their sight, they found 
themselves surrounded by a dusky ring, from which issued a voice, not 
unlike that of their friend Jack, which informed them, in good English, 
that they were prisoners. The prick of a bayonet on one or two who 
endeavored to pass through the circle, convinced them that such was the 
fact; and, after a short parley, they permitted themselves to be marched 
off, and safely stowed away in a strong out-house. 

1 would not have the reader give the negroes the credit of this 
stratagem. It had been devised by B — , who knew that he could de- 
pend on the address and quick wit of Jack for drawing the soldiers 
into the snare. All that part of the business had been left to his own 
discretion. As soon as he had secured the amicable reception of him- 
self and a few others, the rest, dividing into two parties, left the house, 
and, crossing the fence at some distance from the gate, and on each 
side of it, advanced stealthily toward it. Here they met, and having 
arranged themselves for a sudden rush on the stack of arms', an agreed 
signal was given by a negro who possessed a faculty of mimicking .the 
voices of all animals. As soon as the light was extinguished, the neces- 
sary number rushed forward to the object on which their eyes had been 
fixed; seized the arms, and, falling back, ranged themselves in a half 
circle outside of the gate. Those who had been with the soldiers, and 
who all wore concealed arms, closed in behind them, and completely 
hemmed them in. B — , in the mean time, who had his- reasons for not 
wishing to be seen, kept aloof ; and, 'as soon as he knew that the sol- 
diers were secured, returned to the house. There, too, he took care 
not to show himself; arfd Arthur was advised that he should not, by 
making his appearance, at all involve himself in what had been done. 



And even there, his eye being big with' tears, 
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, 
And, with affection wondrous sensible, 
He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted. 


At daylight all was in motion. Arthur and Virginia, being affec- 
tionately dismissed by their 'friends, were first upon the road, before 
Lieutenant Whiting was awake. Much of the night had bsen spent 
in preparations, and long before sunrise Douglas handeH his aunt and 
cousins into their carriage. His uncle mounted the barouche, with 
Jack for driver, by whose side old Tom was placed ; while the lady's 
maid took her seat by her single-minded master with a freedom from 
which an amalgamationist would have drawn the most pleasing infer- 
ences. No other white person was seen ; but a body-guard of twenty 
negroes, well armed, and mounted on plough horses, some saddled, 
some cushioned, and some bare-backed, surrounded the carriages and 
baggage-wagon. In the midst rode Douglas and his friend on horse- 

" You see," said Mr. Trevor to Whiting, as he took his place in the 
barouche, " that the part these faithful creatures took in last night's 
Work, drives them into exile as well as me. ,1 must not leave them be- 
'hind to be the victim's of baffled malice. What is to become of my 
plantation, is a question of less importance. I suppose I may say with 
Ciricinnatus, when honor was forced on him as it is on me, my fields 
must go untilled this year ! You see here, sir, my whole male force. 
Not one proved recreant." 

" This affair is altogether unaccountable to me," said Whiting to 
Douglas, as they moved off together; " and this the strangest feature 
of the whole. Do men, then, act without motives, and against all as- 
signable motives?" 

"I asked the same question myself last night," said Donglas, "and 
was referred to coming events for the answer. I was partly taught, at 
the same sime, to account for what! was told to expect." 

*' And how can it be accounted for ?" 

" I cannot say I have my lesson perfect ; but something was said 
about the difference of character produced by peculiar training, and 


lfabitudes of mind formed by circumstances. For my part, it appears 
to me that there must be something, by nature, in the moral, constitu- 
tion of the negro, intrinsically different from the white man." 

" It would, indeed, seem so," said Whiting, " if we are to credit 
what we see; but, in that case, we must reject the authority which 
tells us that all are of one race." 

" So are all dogs," said Douglas ; " and dogs can no more act with- 
out motive than man. It depends on temper and character what shall 
be the motives of action. The wolf would be sadly puzzled to judgeof 
the motives of the. Newfoundland dog. May not circumstances, which 
have made the difference between them, have produced the much less 
difference*between the white man and the negro? I have no measure 
for the effect of such causes. If I am put to choose between rejecting 
the evidence of my own senses, or the evidence of God's word, or the 
philosophy which teaches that man is to be considered as a unit, be- 
cause all of one race, philosophy must go by the board. It may be, 
that what is best for me, is best for my friend Jack there, and vice 
versa ; but as long as neither of us thinks so, why not leave each to 
his choice ? Besides, there is more room in the world for both of us, 
than if both always wanted the same things." 

A ride of a few hours carried the party across the line into North 
Carolina. Here they stopped at the first public house ; and Mr. Tre- 
vor drew up a hasty statement of the events of the night, which should 
have the efiect of acquitting Lieutenant Whiting of all' blame, on ac- 
count of his own escape from the fangs of his enemies. In this he set 
forth that, having been warned of the intended prosecution, he had 
made his preparations accordingly, and that the officer had but fallen 
into a snare from which no vigilance could have saved him. This he 
signed, and gave, moreover, a clear acquittance to Lieutenant Whiting 
for all he had done ; and having thus placed him, as far as depended 
on himself, rectus in curia, he announced to him that he was now at 
liberty to go whither he would. 

"And now, sir," said he, "as the spell which would have made your 
touch degrading is broken by the State line, let me have the pleasure 
of taking you by the hand, not only as my nephew's friend, but as one 
who, in the extremes of victory and defeat, as captor and as prisoner, 
has borne himself as became a gentleman." 

Saying this, he extended his hand, which Whiting grasped with fer- 
vor, and they parted as friends cordial and sincere. 

Douglas accompanied his friend a short distance on his return, the 
h tter walking and leading his horse. They conversed of the past and 
the future. 


"I have been a volunteer in this business," said Whiting. "I shall 
not disguise that my friendship for you led me to offer my servic >s, and 
I fear that no excuse will be received Tor my failure. There is a spirit 
somewhere at work, to which I will give no name, that will be implaca- 
ble et the thought that any advantage may have been lost by my re- 
spect for your feelings." 

'.'I am afraid it may prove so," replied Douglas. " The consequence 
may be latal to your advancement in the army, and perhaps you may 
be driven from it, as I have been. Should it be so, my dear Whiting — 
but I will not profit so little by the example of delicacy set me while I 
wore the epaulette, as to say anything to you now. I would content 
tuyself with telling you where I shall be found, if I myself knew. But 
shall I keep you advised of my movements?" 

"By all means," said Whiting. "I shall always wish to know your 
fate, whether good or ill." 

"I know that," replied Douglas; "but that is not> my meaning. 
Shall I let you know where to find me, in case circumstances should 
lead you to share my fate ?" 

"Don't ask me that, Trevor. The question implies ideas which I 
must not entertain. But should such a time as you suppose ever ar- 
rive, I shall know where to find you, should my opinions make it right 
to seek you." 

" Then, God bless you, Whiting ! That we shall meet again, is sure; 
th.v. we shall stand shoulder to shoulder in the strife of battle, as, in 
our day dreams, we have-so often thought of doing, I cannot doubt.*' 

And thus parted these gallant and generous youths— the ona into 
exile from the country -that he loved, th% other to return to the service 
of an unthankful master. 

A farther ride of a few miles brought our party to the village in 
which Mr. Trevor wished to take up his temporary residence. Here 
they found Mr. B — , who had been engaged in investigating the com- 
forts "and capabilities of the different public houses, and having fixed 
on that he liked best, met Mr. Trevor in the street, and conducted the 
party to it. The two friends soon drew apart to discuss with the land- 
lord the necessary arrangements for the comfort of the family during 
tluir proposed stay. 

While they were thus engaged, Douglas seated himself, after the 
manner ot the country, in the bar-room, in which, besides some travel- 
lers, there was a motley assemblage of Jhe inhabitants of the village, 
who had come in to stare at and talk about tie new comers By 
the tune Doujjlas had taken care of the ladies and burgage, they 
Were deep into the nun!.-, of the whole party ; and, whin he <. .: red 


the room, they were too busy talking to pay any attention to him. The 
principal interlocutors were three. First, a well-dressed, middle-aged 
man, whose dapper air and delicate hands bespoke one accustomed to 
"bowing across a counter over lace patterns and painted muslins ; and 
whose style of eloquence was exactly adapted to the praise of such ar- 
ticles. Then there was a coarse, strong man, with a bacon-fed look, 
plainly, cheaply, and untastefully dressed in clothes which, by their 
substantial goodness, indicated at once the wearer's prudence and the 
length of his purse. His voice was loud, strong, and self-impprtant, 
entirely devoid of melody, and incapable of inflection or modulation. 
His whole appearance showed him to be a substantial planter, ignorant 
of everything but corn and tobacco. A huge whip in the hand of the 
third, together with his dusty and travel-soiled appearance, denoted the 
driver of a wagon which stood before the door. 
Their conversation I reserve for the next chapter. 



If she be not kind to me, 

What care I how kind she be ? StJCKMHG. 

"I cannot say I like it altogether, Squire," said the planter. "It 
may suit my neighbor Jones, here, well enough to, have one of them 
high-headed Roanoke planters to come here with his family and spend 
his money. I dare say he will make a pretty good spec out of them ; 
but, for my part; I would rather they would stay at home and live un- 
der their own laws. I ha'nt got no notion, after they saddled that 
damned rascal Van Buren upon us so long, that now, the minute we 
have shook him off and made a good government, and good treaties, 
and all, they should be wanting to have a sop in our pan. If that's 
what they are after, in rebelling against their government, I don't 
want to give them no countenance. What we have done, we have 
done for ourselves, and we have a right to all the good of it. They 
have fixed their market to their liking, and let it stand so. If we can > 
get thirty dollars for our tobacco, and they cannot get ten, I reckon we 
ha'nt got nobody to thank for it but ourselves. I dare say, now they 
see how the thing works, they would be glad eaaugh to share with us, 
but I see plain enough that all they would get by joining us we would 
lose, and may be more too." 

" You are right there, Mr. Hobson," said the merchant ; " and that 
is not all. There's an advantage in buying as well as selling. Now, 
as to this Mr. Trevor, or whatever his name is, eoming over here, and 
buying things cheaper than he could get them at home — why, that he is 
welcome to. Though you may be sure, neighbor, I don't let him have 
them as cheap as I sell to you. But as to letting in the Norfolk mer- 
chants to all the advantage of our treaty with England, that is another 
matter ; $r though, when we deepen the bar at Ocracock, I have no 
doubt our town down there will be another sort of a place to what Nor- 
folk ever was, yet if Virginia was to join us now, right away, the most 
of the trade would go to Norfolk again, and they would get their goods 
there as cheap as we get them here, and may be a little cheaper. So 
you see it is against my interest as well as yours ; and I don't like the 
thoughts of putting in a crop, and letting another man gather it, any 
more than you do." 


" It would be harder upon me than any of you," said the wagoner; 
" for if that was the case, that damned railroad would break up. my 
bus ness, stock and flute. As it is, there never was such a time for 
wagoning before. Instead of just' hauling the little tobacco that is 
made here to' the end of the railroad, now I have the hauling of the 
Virginia tobacdo, and all, down to Commerce.'-* 

It is hard to say whether surprise or disgust most prevailed in the 
mind of Douglas at hearing these remarks. The idea of the advantages 
lot* to Virginia, by her connexion with the North, had never entered 
his mind; but still less had he conceived it possible that a sordid de- 
sire to monopolize these advantages could stifle, in the minds of the 
North Carolineans, every feeling of sympathy with the oppressed and 
persecuted assertors of the rights of Virginia. The reply of Mr. Hob- 
son to the remark of the wagoner gave him a yet deeper insight into 
that dark and foul corner of the human heart where self predominates 
over all the better affections. 

" I don't think that's right fair in you, wagoner," said he. "You 
haul the Virginia tobacco down to Commerce, and when it gets inhere it 
is all the same as mine. Now, if it was not for that, I am not so 
mighty sure but I'd get forty dollars instead of thirty, and I don't like 
to lose ten dollars to give you a chance to get one." 

"It is all one to me," said the wagoner. " You may just pay me 
the same for not hauling that they pay me for hauling, or only half as 
much, and I will not haul another hogshead." 

" But if you won't, another will," said Hobson. 

" Like enough," replied the wagoner, " for all trades must live ; and 
if them poor devils get a chance to sell a hogshead or two, instead of 
leading it all to rot, you ought not to grudge them that." 

" Certainly not," said the merchant, " for I guess that whatever they 
get, they take care to lay it all out in goods on this side of the line; so 
the money stays with us after all, and friend Stubbs's hauling does good 
to more besides him." 

" I see," said Hobson, " how it does good to you, but none to me." 

" But that an't all, Mr Hobson," said the landlord, wheuhad en- 
tered while this conversation was going on. " Them hot-h^ded fel- 

*The reader will look in vain on the map for the name of this place. It 
was somewhere on the waters of the Sound, and, doubtless, would have be- 
come a place of some consequence bail not the union of Virginia to the South- 
ern Confederacy laid the foundation for a decree of prosperity in Norfolk 
which bids fair to make il the fust city on thexontinent. The town of Com- 
merce, of course, went down v. iih the necessity which gave rise to it. 


lows over the line there, like this 619 Squire Trevor, will be getting 
themselves into hot Water every now and then ; and when they run 
away and come to us, if they did not bring no money, we'd have to 
feed them free gratis for nothing. Now Stubbs hauls Squire Trevor's 
tobacco to Commerce, and he gets a good price ; and then he gets into 
trouble, and comes over here to stay with me, and so he is able to pay 
me a good price ;" and here it is," added he, showing a roll of notes. 

" Still," said Hobson, "I don't see how that does me any good. If 
they were to come here begging, damn the mouthful I'd give them." 

" Then you would leave the whole burden on the poor tavern-keep- 
ers," said the landlord. 

" No, I would not. I would not let them come ; or, if they did, just 
give them up to their own government. If they had not a chance to 
be running over here, as soon as they got into trouble, they would keep 
quiet, and never get a chance to separate^ and so ruin our business, 
whether they joined us or nd." 

" Old Rip is wide' awake at last," said a voice from behind ; " but it 
is to his interest only." 

Douglas turned to the voice of the speaker, the tone of which ex- 
pressed a scorn and derision most acceptable to his feelings. He was 
a tall and fine looking man, powerfully made, and inclined to be fat, 
but not at all unwieldly. The half laughing expression of his large, 
blue eyes, and the protrusion of his under lip, spoke his careless con- 
tempt of those whose conversation had called forth his sarcasm. The 
attention of the whole company was drawn to him at the same moment, 
all looking as if they wished to say something, without knowing what. 
At. length the Wagoner spoke, on« the well understood principle that, 
when men talk of what they understand imperfectly, he who knows 
least should be always first to show his ignorance. 

"I cannot say- 1 understand rightly what you mean, stranger," said 
he; « but I guess, by the cut of your jib, that you are one of them 
high dons from South Carolina, that always have money to throw away, 
and think a body ought never to care any more for himself than ano- 
ther. But this business don't consarn you, no how, because these peo- 
ple don't interfere with your cotton crop." 

" Yes, but they do, though," said Hobson ; " for if they drive me 
from tobacco, I shall make cotton. But if I can keep them out of the 
tobacco market, I shall be willing to give up the making of cotton to 
South Carolina." 

"Why, that is true," said the stranger, with a sudden change of 
his countenance, from which he discharged, in a moment, every appear- 
ance of intelligence, but that which seemed to reflect the superior wis- 


dom of Mr. Hobson. " That is true," said lie, looking as if making a 
stupid attempt to think ; " I had not thought of that before." 

As he said this, he sunk slowly and thoughtfully into a chair, his 
knees falling far asunder, his arms dropping across his thighs, his body 
bent forward, and his face turned up toward Mr. Hobson, with the look 
of one who desires and expects to receive important information. The 
whole action spoke so eloquently to Mr. Hobson's self-esteem, that he 
went on, with an air of the most gracious complacency. 

" You see, stranger, just shutting only a part of the Virginia tobacco 
out of the market, makes a difference of ten dollars, at. the very least, 
in the price of mine. Now, we used to make a heap of cotton in this 
country, but we are all going to give it up quite entirely, and then, .you 
see, it stands to reason it will make a difference of five cents a pound, 
or may be ten, in your cotton." 

This interesting proposition was received by the stranger with a 
sluggish start of dull surprise, from which he sunk again into the same 
appearance of stolid musing. " To think what a fool I have been," 
said he, after a long pause. Then, scratching his head, and twisting in 
his chair, he added : " You are right, you are right; and the only way 
to manage the matter is to get your Legislature to pass a law, as you 
say, to make those fellows stay at home." 

" To be sure it would," said the gratified Hobson ; " but then there 
are so many conceited fellows in the Legislature, with a fool's notion in 
their heads about taking sides with them^ that cannot help themselves, 
that there is no getting anything done." 

" Well," said the stranger, " this gentleman guessed right when he 
said I was from South Carolina. So I don't know anything about -your 
laws here. But L, suppose you have no law to hurt a man for taking up 
one that runs away from the law in Virginia, and carrying him back. 
I expect old Van would pay well for them." 

Hobson looked hard at the stranger, and only answered with that 
compound motion of the head, which, partaking at once of a shake and 
a nod, expressed both assent and caution. 

The landlord and merchant both exclaimed against this suggestion, the 
one illustrating his argument by the freedom with which his guest had 
ordered wine from the bar; the other, by his former experience of his 
liberality as a purchaser of goods while he kept store in Mr. Trevor's 
neighborhood, which he had withdrawn since the revolution. Among 
the bystanders there was no expression of opinion, but that sort of 
silence which betokens an idea that what has been said is well worth 



Sic vos non vobis. — Vikqil. 

In the meantime, Mr. B — had entered the room, and, hearing the 
stranger's voice, placed himself at the back of his chair, looking on 
with a playful smite. He now spoke — 

" Have you played out the play ?" said he. 

The, stranger sprung to his feet in a moment, and, facing B — , caught 
him by the hand, which he shook with an energy which seemed to 
threaten dislocation. The two then turned off, and left the room to- 

" This is most fortunate, my dear sir," said the stranger; * but pray 
tell me how happens it that I find you here V 

". Do you not perceive," said B — , " that I have a, friend in trouble, 
and that I am here with him ? Did you not hear the name of Trevor 
just now ?" 

" Trevor ! No — I did not distinguish the name What Trevor ? 
Bernard ? Is he here ? In trouble ? Abaut what ? I came this far 
to see you both, andnot choosing to go into Virginia, was listening to 
the conversation of those fellows, in hopes to find some one among 
them whom I could trust to send with a request that you would both 
meet me here." 

" Here we both are," said B — , " and here Trevor is like to remain 
for a while. He has been elected to the Legislature, and they have 
gotten up a prosecution against him before that iniquitous court of high 
commission at Washington, to hang him, if they can, or at least to 
drive him off." 

" Can you think him safe here," asked the stranger, " among such 
mercenary wretches as those we have just left ?" 

"0, yes ! You must not judge of this people by those muck-worms. 
The best of the three is a Yankee tin-pedler, turned merchant The 
other two are the worst specimens of their respective species. I dare 
say there are many more like them, but there are fifty gentlemen of 
property in this'county who would stand by us; and are ready, in their 
individual capacity, to aid us with purse and sword, whenever we raise 
our banner." 


" But where is Trevor ?" said the stranger. " I am impatient to see 

"We will go to him," said B — ; "but first let me introduce you to 
a. young friend of ours, whom you must receive as a friend. He is the 
sort of man we should cherish, and, besides that, he has been in trou- 
ble on your account. You must understand »that he was tin officer in 
the army of the United States, and incurred the mortal displeasure of 
his master for not joining one of his minions in abuse of you, when 
the news of your successful negotiation with the British Government 
was received." 

Douglas was now .called into the room, and introduced to the stranger, 
and the three gentlemen repaired together to the parlor of Mr. Trevor. 
A cordial greeting between the two friends, and a sprightly conversa- 
tion on various topics, ensued ; but at length the ladies left the room, 
and affairs of moment came under discussion. 

"J am come,". said the stranger, " to learn your plans, and to consult 
of the best means of affording such aid as we can. When, where, and 
how, do y^ou mean to move I" 

" We have carried the elections," said B — , " so as to be sure of a 
majority in the Legislature, if they can be freed from the presence of 
the Federal array. But, unless that can be done, our friends here, and 
many others, will not be permitted to attend, and the weaker brethren 
will be overawed." 

" Of course, then, you will attempt that. What measures do you 
propose to take ?" 

" None that shall attract observation," said B— . " It is impossible, 
at this time, to draw together any- force which might not at once be 
overwhelmed by the army at Richmond. We are, therefore, obliged 
to lie quiet, and suffer our people to see for themselves the advantages 
they are losing. They are beginning to understand this. They per- 
ceive that your commercial arrangements are making their neighbors 
in this State rich, while they can sell nothing that they make, and are 
obliged to give double price for all they buy. The abatement of duty, 
in the English ports on your tobacco, and the corresponding abatement 
of your impost on British manufactures, is driving trade, money, and, 
even population, to the South; and nothing but separation from the 
Northern States can prevent our whole tobacco country from being de- 
serted. This, of course, will open the eyes of the people in time, and 
we hope, that when the Legislature meets, it may be practicable to 
draw together, on the sudden, such a force as may drive the enemy 
from Richmond, and give time at least to adjourn to a place where 
they may deliberate in safety. 


" Is there any such place in the State j"' asked the stranger. 

" I am not aware that there is at this moment, but such a one must 
be provided for the emergency, should it arise." 

" And what means do you propose to use for that purpose ?" 

" There is a section of the State," replied B — , "where circumstances 
enable me to exert a powerful influence, and where, from its localities, 
a partisan corps might maintain itself, in spite of the enemy, and might 
give so decided a disposition to the surrounding population, as to estab- 
lish perfect security within a pretty extensive district." 

" Bat is there no danger," said the southron, " that such a corpt 
would induce an increase of the force at Richmond and elsewhere, and 
so make the first step in your enterprise more difficult ?" 

" It would have that effect," said B— , " were not the seene of action 
remote from Richmond, and unless the operations of the corps were so 
conducted as to create no alarm for that place. Of course, there should 
be no appearance of eoncert with this lower country ; and, so far from 
increasing apprehension of our' ulterior designs, our failure to rally to 
the banner of a successful leader might disarm suspicion." 

" Then it seems that all you want is a Marion, a Sumpter, or a 
Pickens 1" 

" We have such a one," said B — ', " and it is well that you are here 
with us to aid in consecrating him to the task. Here he stands." 

As he said this, he laid his hand, solemnly, gently, and respectfully, 
on the head of the astonished Douglas. 

" What, I !" exclaimed he. " For God's sake, my dear sir, what 
qualification have I for such service ?" 

" Courage, talent, address, and military education," said B — , with a 
quiet smile. 

" And where should I find men willing to be commanded by me, in 
an enterprise which, of course, supposes the absence of all legal au- 
thority ?" 

" Suppose them provided," said B — . " Is there -any other difficul- 
ty to be provided ?" 

"I should still be bound to< enquire," said Douglas, "what good! 
end is proposed, before I could agree to enter on a course of conduct 
which nothing but the most important considerations could justify." 

" All that you have a right to ask, and are bound to understand! 
clearly. You would have understood it long before this, but that as 
long as one shred remained of the tie that bound you to the army of 
the United States, a delicate respect to you imposed silence on your 
uncle and myself. You now require that we show you some prevailing 


reason why Virginia should detach herself from the Northern Confed- 
eracy, and either form a separate State, which we do not propose, or 
unite herself to the South, which we do. Is not that your diffi- 
culty ?" 

" It is," replied Douglas. " I hare long been sensible that there 
were views of the subject which my situation had hidden from me, and 
have frequently lamented (while I was grateful for) the resolute re- 
serve which my friends have maintained." 

' " You must be sensible," said B — , " that the Southern States, in- 
cluding Virginia, are properly and almost exclusively agricultural. 
The quality of their soil and climate, and the peculiar character of 
their laboring population, concur to make agriculture the most profita- 
ble employment among them. Apart from the influence of artificial 
causes, it is not certain that any labor can be judiciously taken from 
the soil to be applied to any other object whatever. When Lord 
Chatham said that America ought not to manufacture a hob-nail for 
herself, he spoke as a true and judicious friend of the colonies. The 
labor necessary to make the hob-nail, if applied to the cultivation of 
the earth, might produce that for which the British manufacturer 
would gladly give two hob-nails. By coming between the manufacturer 
and the farmer, and interrupting this interchange by perverse legisla- 
tion, the Government broke the tie which bound the colonies to the 
mother country. 

" When that tie was severed and peace established, it was the inter- 
est of both parties that this interchange should be restored, and put 
upon Such a footing as to enable each, reciprocally, to obtain for the 
products of his own labor as much as possible of the products of the 
labor of the other. 

" Why was not this done ? Because laws are not made for the bene- 
fit of the people, but for that of their rulers. The monopolizing spirit 
of the landed aristocracy in England led to the Exclusion of our bread- 
stuffs, and the necessities of the British treasury tempted to the levy- 
ing of enormous revenue from our other agricultural products. The 
interchange between the farmer and manufacturer was thus interrupted. 
In part it was absolutely prevented ; the profit- being swallowed up by 
the impost, the inducement was taken away. 

"What did the American Government under these circumstances? 
Did they say to Great Britain, ' relax your corn-laws ; reduce your 
duties on tobacco ; make no discrimination between our cotton and that 
from the East Indies ; and we will refrain from laying a high duty on 
your manufactures. You will thus enrich your own people, and it is 
by no means sure that their increased prosperity may not you, 


through the excise and other channels of revenue, more than an 
equivalent For the taxes we propose to you to withdraw.' 

" Did we say this ? No. And why ? Because, in the Northern 
States, there was a manufacturing interest to he advanced by the very 
course of legislation most fatal to the South. With a dense popula- 
tion, occupying a small extent of barren country, with mountain streams 
tumbling into- deep tide-water, and bringing commerce to the aid of 
manufactures', they wanted nothing but a-monopoly of the Southern, 
market to enable them to enrich themselves. The alternative was be- 
fore'us. To invite the great European manufacturer to reciprocate 
the benefits of free trade, whereby the South might enjoy all the ad- 
vantages of its fertile soil and fine climate, or to transfer these advan- 
tages to the North, by meeting Great. Britain on the ground of prohi- 
bition and exaction. The latter was preferred, because to the interest 
of that seetion, which, having the local majority, had the power. 

" Under this system, Great Britain has never wanted a pretext for 
her corn-laws, and her high duties on all our products. Thus we sell 
all we-make, subject to these deductions, which, in many instances, 
leave much less to us than what goes into the British treasury. 

" Here, too, is the pretext to the Government of the United States 
for their exactions in return. The misfortune is, that the Southern 
planter had to bear both burdens. One half the price of his products 
is seized by the British Government, and half the value of what he 
gets for the other half ie seized by the Government of the United 

" This they called retaliation and indemnification. It was indemni- 
fying an interest which had not been injured, by the farther Injury of 
one which had been injured. It was impoverishing the South for the 
benefit of the North, to requite the South for having been already im- 
poverished for the benefit of Great Britain. Still it was ' indemnifying 
ourselves.' Much virtue in that word 'ourselves.' It is the language 
used by the giant to the dwarf in the fable ; the language of the bra- 
zen pot to the earthern pot; the language of all dangerous or interested 

" I remember seeing an illustration of this sort of indemnity in the 
case of a woman who was whipped by her husband. She went com- 
plaining to her father, who whipped her again, and sent her back. 
' Tell your husband,' said he, 'that as often as he whips my daughter, I 
will whip his wife.'" 

"But what remedy has been proposed for these things?" asked 


" A remedy has been proposed and applied," replied B — . " The 


remedy of legislation for the benefit, not of the rulers, but of the 

"But in what sense will you say that our legislation has been.forthe 
benefit of the rulers alone ? Are we not all our own rulers ?" 

" Yes," replied B — , " if you again have recourse to Ae use of that 
comprehensive word ' we/ which identifies things most dissimilar, 
and binds up, in the same bundle, things most discordant. If the 
South and North are one ; if the Yankee and the Virginian are one ; 
if light and darkness, heat and cold, life and death, can all be identi- 
fied ; then we are our own rulers. Just so, if the State will consent to be 
identified with the Church, then WE pay tithes with one hand, and re- 
ceive them with the other. While the Commons identify themselves 
with the Crown, 'we' do but pay taxes to ourselves. And if Virgin- 
ians can be fooled into identifying themselves with the Yankees — a 
fixed tax-paying minority, with a fixed tax-receiving majority — jt will 
still be the same thing ; and they will continue to hold a distinguished 
place among the innumerable- wes that have been gulled into their 
own, ruin ever since the world began. It is owing to this sort of de- 
ception, played off on the unthinking multitude, that, in the two freest 
countries in the world, the most important interests are taxed for the 
benefit of lesser interests. In England, a country of manufacturers, 
they have been starved that agriculture may thrive. In this, a country 
of farmers and planters, they have been taxed that manufacturers may 
thrive. Now I will requite Lord Chatham's well-intentioned declara- 
tion, by saying that England ought not to make a barrel of flour for 
herself. I say, too, that if her rulers and the rulers of the people of 
America were true to their trust, both sayings would be fulfilled. She 
would be the work-house, and here would be thegranary of the world. 
What would become of the Yankees ? As / don't call them WE, I 
leave them to find the answer to that question." 



Such is the aspect of this shore ; 
'Tis Greece — but living Greece no more. 


The impression made on Douglas by these observations" was so strong 
and so obvious, that his friend- paused and left him to meditate upon 
them. Some . minutes elapsed before he made any reply. When he 
did speak, he acknowledged the existence and magnitude' of the griev- 
ance, and again enquired, with increased solicitude", what remedy had 
been found. . 

" You heard what passed in the bar-room, just now," said the 

"I did." replied Douglas, " and I was as much surprised at the facts 
hinted at, as disgusted at the sentiments of the speakers." 

" Then your surprise must have been extreme," said the other; "for 
I hardly know which amused me most — their unblushing display of 
selfish meanness, or the glow of indignation in your countenance, which 
showed how little you know of this world of philanthropy and benevo- 
lence that we live in. But had you no suspicion of the cause of those 
enviable advantages which these sons of Mammon are so anxious to 
monopolize ?" 

"Not at all, and hence my surprise; for I had supposed heretofore, 
that, between the two States, all the advantage lay on the side of Vir- 

"You judged rightly," replied the other. "In the way of com- 
merce, nature has done nothing for the one, and every thing for the 
other. But the conversation you have heard is a proof that the sand 
which chokes the waters of the Sound is a trivial obstacle, in compari- 
son with the legislative barriers which have shut out prosperity from 
the noble Chesapeake. Look at your rivers and bay, and you will see 
that Virginia ought to be the most prosperous country in the world. 
Look at the ruins which strew the face of your lower country, the re- 
mains of churches and the fragments of tombstones; and you will see 
that she once was so. Ask for the descendants of the men whose 
names are sculptured on those monuments, and their present condition 


will tell you that her prosperity ha"s passed away. Then ask all history. 
Go to the finest countries in the world — to Asia Minor, to Greece, to 
Italy ; ask what has laid them desolate, and you will receive but one 
answer, 'misgoverninent.'" 

." But may not the fault be in the people themselves ?" asked Doug- 

" The fault of submitting to be misgoverned, certainly. But no 
more than that. Let the country enjoy its natural advantages, and 
they who are too ignorant or too slothful to use them will soon give 
place to others of a different character. What has there been to pre- 
vent the Yankee from selling his barren hills at high prices and com- 
ing South, where he might, buy the fertile shores of the Chesapeake 
for a song ? No local attachment, certainly — for his home is every 
where. What is there now to prevent the planter of this, neighbor- 
hood from exchanging his thirsty fields for the rich and long-coveted 
low grounds of James River or Roanoke, in Virginia ? Are these 
people wiser, better,* more energetic and industrious than they were 
twelve months ago, that their lands have multiplied in value five fold? 
Is it your uncle's fault, that, we're he now at home the tame slave of ' 
power, he could hardly give away his fine estate? The difference is, 
that this country now enjoys its natural advantages, while Virginia re- 
mains under the crushing weight of a system devised for the benefit of 
her oppressors." 

" I see the effect," said Douglas. " But tell me, I beseech you, the 
cause of this change in your condition here." 

" The cause is free trade." 

" And how has that been obtained ?" 

u I will answer that," said B — , " because my friend's modesty might 
restrain him from giving the true answer. It has been obtained by in- 
telligence, manly frankness, and fair dealing. It has been obtained by 
offering to other nations terms most favorable to their peculiar and dis- 
tinctive interests, in consideration of receiving the like advantage. 
Instead of nursing artificial interests to rival the iron and cotton fab- 
rics, and the shipping of England, the wine of France, the silk and 
oil of Italy, and enviously snatching at whatever benefit nature may 
have vouchsafed to other parts of the world, this people only ask to 
exchange for these things their own peculiar productions. A trade 
perfectly free, totally discharged from all duties, would certainly be 
best for all. But revenue must be had, and the impost is the best 
source of revenue. No State can be expected to give that up. But it 
has been found practicable so to regulate that matter as reduce the 


charges which have heretofore incumbered exchanges to a mere 

" How has that been effected ?" asked 'Douglas. 

•' If that question were to be answered in detail," said B — , " I 
should leave the answer to him by whom the details have been arranged. 
I will give you the outline in a few words. These States were first 
driven to think of separation by a tariff of protection. . Their Federal 
constitution guards against it. by express prohibition, and by requiring 
that the impost, like the tax laws of Virginia, should be annual. 

" They have felt the danger to liberty from excessive revenue. Their 
constitution requires that the estimates of the expense of the current 
year shall be made the measure of revenue to be raised for that year. 
The imports of the preceding year are taken as a basis of calculation, 
and credit being given for any surplus in the treasury, a tariff is laid 
which, on that basis, would produce the sum required." 

" Then there can never be any surplus for an emergency," said 

" Always," replied B — ; " in the right place, and the only safe 
place — the pockets of a prosperous people. There is no place in the 
treasury to keep money.' The till of the treasury has a hole in the 
bottom, and the money always finds its way into the pockets of sharp- 
ers, parasites, man-worshippers, and pseudo patriots. But let that pass. 
You see that a small revenue alone will probably be wanting, and being 
raised annually, the tariff can be annually adjusted. 

" Now, what says justice, as to the revenue to be raised by two na- 
tions on the trade between the two, seeing that it is equally levied on 
the citizens of both ?" 

" On that hypothesis each should receive an equal share of it," said 

" Precisely so," answered B — , " and let these terms be held out to 
all nations, and if one will not accept them another will. On this 
principle a system of commercial arrangements has been set on foot 
which, bjfc-estoring to these States the benefit of their natural advan- 
tages, is at once producing an effect which explains their former pros- 
perity. It places in stronger relief the evils of the opposite system to 
Virginia, and really leaves her, while she retains her present connexion 
with the North, without any resource. Tobacco she cannot sell at all. 
Invitee natura, she will have to raise cotton to supply the beggared 
manufactories of the North, from which she will not receive in return 
the third part as much of the manufactured article as the Carolina 
planter will get for his. This is her fate. She sees it, and would throw 
off the yoke. But her Northern masters see it too. She is all that 


remains to theni of fbeir Southern dependencies, wlicS, though not 
their colonies, they have' so long governed as colonies. Take her away, 
and they are in the condition of the wolf when there are no sheep left. 
Wolf eat wolf, and Yankee cheat Yankee. This they will guard against 
by all means lawful and unlawful, for Virginia alone mitigates the 
ruin that their insatiate rapacity has brought upon them. They will 
hold on to her with the gripe of death ; and she must and will struggle 
to free herself, as from death. 

" And now, how say you ? Are you prepared to do your part in 
furtherance of this object V 

" I am," replied Douglas promptly, " and I now eagerly ask you to 
show me the means by which I can advance it." 

" You asked for men," said B — >, "and you shall have them. They 
are already provided, and "want but a deader." 

" But what authority can I have to be recognized as such ?" 
" You have heard your uncle, aunt, or cousins, speak of Jacob 

" I believe I have; but what can such a fellow have to do with such 
affairs as we now speak of. Is he not an ignorant clown 1" 

" He is all that," said B. "' But he writes as good a hand as Mar- 
shal Saxe, and has probably read as many books as Cincinnatus. But 
to speak seriously, he is no common clown. I picked him up, nearly 
forty years ago, a little, dirty, ragged boy, without money, without 
friends, without education, and without principles. All these wants I 
found means to supply, except that of education, which to him would 
be quite superfluous. But he now has money sufficient, and friends 
without number ; and, what is better still, he has become an honeat 
man, and discharges the duties of one none the worse for having had 
a pretty large experience in knavery. Such as he is, he is bound to 
me by gratitude, such as few men are capable of. More than a dozen 
years ago, he followed the bent of early habit, and retired to his native 
mountains, where he has married, and lives after the manner of the 
country, as if he were worth nothing in the world but his nfle. He 
has a good deal of money, which I, manage for him ; and as he has no 
taste for extravagance of any sort, and is generous as a king, he always 
has a dollar to spare a friend. 

" When I tell you that the people of that district see so little money 
that they always count it by four-pence-half-pennies, you will readily 
believe that a little help goes a great way. They don't see that Schwartz 
has any property; but their opinion of his sagac'ty and enterprise 
takes away all wonder at the fact, that he is always able, as well as 
ready, to give aid to . a friend at time of need. You will, of course. 


infer, that his influence among them is very great. .Now that, and all 
his faculties of body, mind, and purse, are at my command. He is 
aware of the state of public affairs ; adopts all my views, as far as he 
can understand them, and beyond that point trusts me implicitly. It 
is through his instrumentality that the minds of the mountaineers of 
that district are prepared for action at this moment. No force is actu- 
ally organized, but every thing is ready for the emergency. The dis- 
positions of the people, and the strong fastnesses of the country, will 
make it a secure retreat to a partisan corps. The materials for such a 
corps may be found in part among the inhabitants. A nucleus is all 
that is wanting, and' to that all the persecuted and distressed, from 
every quarter, will gather." 

" You show me, then," said Douglas, "that you already have all you 
want — men and a leader. Your friend Schwartz must be the very man 
to command those fellows, and might not like to submit to the authority 
of another." 

" He is not the man to command," said B — , tc because he could not 
keep up intelligence with other parts of the country, though as a me- 
dium of intelligence there is none' better. Indeed he cannot be spared 
from that branch of service. Besides, though he miaht command his 
neighbors, you will be joined by men who will not submit to be com- 
manded by any but a gentleman. As to any reluctance on his part, go 
to him jn my name, or in that of your uncle or aunt, and you command 
him, body and soul. You will find all his faculties devoted to your 
service, without envy, jealousy, or grudging; and you will do well to 
use his mind more than his body. In many particulars he is one of 
the most efficient men in the world ; and as he perfectly understands 
himself, and knows what he is fit for, you may always leave him to 
choose his own function, an,d to execute it in his own way." 



The heath this night must be my bed, 
The bracken curtain for my head, 
My lullaby the warder's tread, 

Far, far, from Love and thee, Mary! 

" I think," said Douglas, " I now understand your general purpose, 
and the means to be placed at my disposal. Let me now know your 
plan of operations. What am I to do, and when 1" I 

" The task I propose to myself," replied B — , " is one which requires 
that I keep myself out of harm's way, and free from all suspicion, until 
the time shall come; when I propose to act a part which shall make 
me a conspicuous mark for the malice or policy of our enemies. Hence 
I affect to live, and keep myself as much as possible on this side of the 
line. What you do there must be done in such a way as to indicate 
no connexion with me. I therefore propose that you accompany my 
friend here to South Carolina, where you may derive much benefit from 
seeing the first men in that State, with whom he will make you ac- 
quainted. From thence I would have you address letters to-your friends 
(especially those in the army) so worded as to lead them to attribute your 
change of opinions (which should be made to seem progressive) to the in- 
fluence of these new associations. A few weeks will be sufficient for 
this purpose, and you may return to Virginia early in the summer. 
Here," continued B — , pointing to a map which hung in the room, " is- 
the point at which you will enter the State, and here will be the prin- 
cipal scene of your operations. You will there find Schwartz, to whom 
you shall be properly accredited, and from whom you will learn the re- 
sources to be placed at your command, and the capabilities of the coun- 

" Now observe Our object is to organize a small force, under-which 
the district may be protected in declaring for the Independenc of Vir- 
ginia, and prepared to afford a place of refuge to the Legislature, 
should they be driven from Bichmond before they have time to organ- 
ize the operations of the Government. Of course, they must have an 
opportunity to assemble there, if but for a day. This it must be our 
care to secure, by a sudden movement from the midland counties on 
the southern boundary, and in this we may need your co-operation. 
On that point we shall take care to keep you advised. 


Now, our first object being to free Richmond from the presence of 
the federal army, at the moment* the Legislature is to meet, we must be 
careful to cause no alarm for the safety of that place Any movement 
in that direction would produce a concentration of force there, and in- 
crease our difficulties. You should, therefore, be careful so to shape 
your operations as rather to call the -attention of the enemy to other 
points; and if you can make them of sufficient importance to draw de- 
tachments from Richmond, a double purpose will be answered. You 
will have no cause to fear any force that can be brought against you. 
Your field of operations affords situations which- may defy assault, and, 
the line of North Carolina being at your back, you may, at any mo- 
ment, cross it and disband for a time. 

" But I am not sure whether our end may not be answered best by 
giving' to all your operations such a. character as may exclude the idea 
of any political object. As none of those who are conspicuous as mal- 
contents in the lower country will join vou, this deception will not be 
difficult. In beating up the quarters of the troops near you, you may 
seem to act but in self-defence ; and should you extend your blow so 
far as Lynchburg, your mountaineers will hardly fail to levy such con- 
tributions on the camp-followers, and Yankee pedlars there, (who, call 
themselves merchants,) as to give the measure the appearance of a 
mere marauding expedition." 

" I am not so very sure," replied Douglas, " that I should like to mix 
my little reputation, as a soldier and a gentleman with sra affairof that serf 
, "lam not suggesting anything contrary to the laws of war,"' said 
B — . " The violation of them would be but in appearance. Care 
would be taken to indemnify any who might be wronged, whenever it 
shall be expedient for you to throw off the mask. As to any temporary 
misconstruction, your name would connect you with your uncle, and, 
through him, with me and all our friends ; and moreover, would whet 
the malice of your worthy friends, the Bakers, who would move heaven 
and earth to circumvent you. Better, therefore, to drop the last name. 
Archibald Douglas is name enough to satisfy the ambition of any 
reasonable man, at least until he can cap it with a yet more honorable 
addition, if that be possible." 

While this conversation was going on, there was some appearance of 
embarrassment about Douglas, which did not escape the observation of 
his uncle. At length he said to him, in an under tone, that, before 
carrying the' matter under discussion any farther, he would be glad to 
have a few words with him in private. 

" I understand your wish," said the old gentleman, aloud ; " it shall 
be indulged." 


'•' I suspect you mistake me," said Douglas, coloring very high. 

" Not at all," replied the other. " You only suppose so because you do 
not know that one of my friends here received his wife in marriage at 
my hands, and that the other stood father to mine. Hence I have no 
such reserves with them as you may suppose. Now do I understand 
you ?" 

" I dare say you do," replied Douglas, blushing yet. more deeply. 

" Then, I say agafn, your wish shall be indulged. You shall not 
leave us until you are fully' established in all the rights which it is 
mine to confer. But you must suppress your raptures until you h6ar 
the conditions. Our plan requires secresy, and above all, that there 
should be no appearance of concert between you and us, arid no cause 
to suspect it. This thing, therefore, must be absolutely private; no 
witnesses but those here present, and your aunt, and Lucia; and in the 
next moment your foot must be in the stirup. Are you content ?" 

"Content!" said Douglas. " Indeed I am not; but I see that you 
are acting upon a concerted plan, and that all expostulation must be 
vain. Let me at least see Delia now." 

"I suspect she has gone to bed," said Mr. T — . "Retired! I be- 
lieve is the word introduced by our Yankee school-mistresses, whose 
prurient imaginations are shocked at the name of a bed. Poor girl, 
she was glad to retire, in the plain English sense of the word, as soon 
as we got here, and, I dare say, has been in bed half an hour. She 
and your aunt were on active service all last night, while you were 
keeping a snoring watch over our friend Whiting. Come, my boy ! 
You shall not infect her with the fever of your brain to-night. If you 
cannot sleep, it is no reason why she should not. And now let us turn 
again to other matters." 

" The next question, then," said the southron, " is how we can aid 
you ? By sword, or tongue, or pen, or purse ?" 

" By purse as much as you please," said B — . " Our young friend 
here will need a small military chest, which we have no means of fill- 
ing. As to the rest, keep out of the scrape. We wish to join you in 
peace, and then remain at peace, which will not be, if you strike a blow 
in our behalf now. As much individual aid as you please to our ren- 
dezvous just before the first Monday in December. A thousand inde- 
pendent volunteers, pour le coup, would be welcome. In the mean- 
time, if you can send our young friend here a promising young officer 
from your military school, to be his second in commarfd, it is all we 
would ask. Of course, he will come as of his own head, for you must 
not seem to have anything to do with the matter. 

Many other topics connected with our subject were discussed, but I 


deem it unadvisable to speak of more than is necessary .to explain the' 
subsequent ^situation of the parties. When they met again at break- 
fast, the swimming eye and changing cheek of Delia told that she had 
been made acquainted with all that had passed. The countenance of 
Douglas beamed with high excitement, at once pleasant and painful. 
A glance of triumphant encouragement to Delia, and her answering 
tearful smile, showed that they perfectly understood each other. In- 
deed, it was time they should, for it had been settled that B— , who 
was a resident and justice of the peace of the county, should perform 
the marriage ceremony, according to the unceremonious law of North 
Carolina, immediately after breakfast. 

As soon as it was over, they adjourned to the parlor, where B — , 
drawing Delia to him, seated her on his knee. " I don't half like this 
business-," said he. " I have no mind to take an active part in giving 
up my own little girl to this»young fellow. I am too old to think of 
loving and fighting all in a breath, as he does, and I thought to wait 
till the wars were over, and here he comes and cuts me out. But I 
am determined to do nothing in prejudice of my claim until I find that 
I have no chance. Young man," added he, in a tone gradually chang- 
ing from playful to serious, " do you love this dear girl with that faith- 
ful, single-hearted love, which man owes to a woman who gives him all 
herlieart, and entrusts to him all her happiness and all her hopes?" 

As he said this he took the hand of Douglas, and went on : "Do 
you thus love her, and will you in good faith manifest this love, by be- 
ing to her a true and devoted husband, in every change and vicissitude 
of life, so long as life shall last? Answer me, Douglas," he continued, 
with a voice approaching to sternness, and a fixed and searching look, 
while he strongly grasped the young man's hand. 

"Assuredly I will," said Douglas, somewhat hurt. 
' " And you dear," said B — , resuming his kind and playful. tone, " do 
you love this, young fellow in like sort, and will you, on your part, be 
to him thus faithful as his wife ?" 

While B— said this, the blushing Delia tried to disengage herself; 
but he detained her, and caught the hand with which she endeavored 
to loosen his from her waist, and held it fast. At length she hid her 
face on his neck, whispering : 

"You know I do. You know I will." 

" Then God bless you, my children," said B— , bringing their hands 
together and grasping both firmly in one of his ; " for you are married 
as fast as the law can tie you." 

In a moment the whole party were on their feet, each expressing a 
different variety of surprise. Douglas was the first to understand his 


situation fully, as appeared by his springing forward and catching his 
bride to his bosom, imprinting on her pure cheek the kiss that holy na- 
ture prompts, and that all the caprices of fashion (thank God !) can 
never shame. From him she escaped into the arms of her mother, 
who, caressing her with murmured tenderness," looked half reproach- 
fully at B — . Then smiling through the tear that filled her large blue 
eye, she shook her finger at him, and said, " Just like you ! just like 

" Fairly cheated you of your scene, Margaret. All the matronly 
airs, and maidenly airs, that you and Delia have been rehearsing this 
morning, gone for nothing. And there is dear little Lucia crying as if 
to break her heart, because sister Delia was married before she could 
fix her pretty little face for the occasion. Never mind, dear I When 
your turn comes there will be less hurry, and you shall have a ceremony 
as long as the whole liturgy. Well, Douglas, you will not quarrel with 
me, I am sure ; and I think Delia will forgive me for the trick I played 
her. You have but an hour to stay together, and where was the sense 
of giving that up to the flutter and agitation of a deferred ceremony ? 
I suspect if I were always to manage the matter in this way, I should 
have my hands as full of business as the dentist that used to conjure 
people's teeth out of their mouths without" their knowing it, while he 
was pretending just to fix his . instrument. But go,' my children. 
Empty your full hearts into each other's bosoms, and thank me for the 



Gathering tears and tremblings of discress ; 

And cheeks all pale, which, but an hour ago, 

Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness. 

And there were sudden partings, such as press 

The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs. 

Which ne'er might be repeated : Who could guess 

If ever more should meet those mutual eyes'? Btbon. 

And so it was. I can add nothing to the language of the poet. I 
can supply nothing to the imagination of the reader. Thus Dou. las 
and Delia parted. He accompanied his new acquaintance to the south- 
ern capital ; he there met with men whose names live and will live in 
.the history of their country, and whose memories will be honored while 
virtue is held in reverence among men. From these, and especially 
from the accomplished gentleman to Whose friendship he had been, in- 
troduced by his uncle an,d Mr. B — , he received such lights as dis- 
pelled every shadow of doubt from his mind. The wrongs of Virginia, 
her rights and her remedies, became the subject of all his thoughts, 
and he burned with impatience for the time when he might draw his 
sword on her behalf, and turn to her use, as he had expressed it, the 
lessons learned in the school of her oppressors. 

That time at length arrived. Returning by the upper road which 
skirts the foot of the mountains, ho re-entered Virginia nearly at the 
spot to which his brother had gone in quest of him. There, as he had 
been taught to expect, he found Sclnvartz, whose reception of him fully 
justified the assurances of B — . To that gentleman he showed un- 
bounded devotion, delighted to speak of favors received at his hands, 
ana of " moving accidents by flood and field," which they had encoun- 
tered together. Next to 1? — , in his estimation, stood Mrs. Trevor ; 
then Delia, for whom, when a child, he had formed a passionate at- 
tachment; and last, Mr. Trevor himself, whom, after the rest, he re- 
spected and admired above all human beings. A hint from B — that 
Douglas was.the husband of Delia placed him at once in the same cata- 
logue of worthies, and from the first moment he devoted himself not 
less to his personal service than to the advancement of the common 
cause. He had already organized a small corps, the command of which 
he unreservedly surrendered, making it his constant study to recom- 
mend the new commander to the confidence of the men. 


No man could deserve it better, or was better qualified to win it. 
Frank, affable, generous and kind, his deportment was marked by that 
self-respectful courtesy which has all the good effect of dignity, without 
ever passing by that name. With nothing repulsive, austere, or cold 
in his demeanor, he was a man whose orders no soldier would question, 
whose displeasure no gentleman, would choose to incur, whose feelings 
no friend, however careless, would wound. Liberally 'supplied with 
money by his southern friends, and instructed by Schwartz in the judi- 
cious use of it, he took effectual measures to prevent distress' in the 
fancies of his followers. A small sum amply satisfied their simple 
wants, and his men had the satisfaction of knewing that their families 
suffered nothing by their absence from their* little farms. 

Beside the small embodied corps I have mentioned, the whole popu- 
lation of that warlike district were placed under a sort of organization, 
so that, while they pursued their occupations of hunting or farming, < 
they were prepared, at any moment, to join an expedition or to resist 
an attack. 

Schwartz, who' knew the country, inch by inch, made Douglas ac- 
quainted with all its strengths end all its passes, so that he soon be- 
came an expert woodsman, and an active mountaineer. His first care 
was to select a place for a stationary camp. For this purpose he chose' 
a position strong by nature, which he made nearly impregnable. He 
next provided horses enough to mount a part of his corps. For these 
the rich herbage of the mountains afforded abundant subsistence during 
the' summer months. Of ammunition there was no stint. The lead 
mines were just at his back, beyond the Alleghany. Powder is made 
of good quality in all that region, and the quantity necessary for*the 
rifle is so small, that the rifleman may be said to carry a hundred lives 
in his powder-horn. Of provisions he had plenty, though wanting 
many things deemed necessary in a regular army. But the pure air of 
the mountains, and the exercise of hunting and scouting, preserved the 
health of the men without tents, or salt, or vinegar, or vegetables of 
any kind. Venison and beef, dried in the sun, or over the fire by the 
process called jerking, was prepared in the season of abundance for 
winter use, and proved the best sort of food for a marauding corps. 
Light, compact, and nutritious, there is no diet on which a man can 
travel so far or fight so hard. 

Nothing now remained but to make his enemy feel him. Stooping 
from his mountain fastness, he soon broke up all the military posts in 
the adjacent counties ; so that, in a few weeks, not a blue-coat was to 
be seen on the south side of Staunton river. Freed from the presence 
of their enemy, the people were found ready to rise en masse. He dis- 


suaded them from doing more than to put themselves in readiness for 
action, to furnish him needed supplies, for which he paid fairly, and to 
give him notice of the approach of the enemy- For this purpose he es- 
tablished a sort of half military organization, and had it in his power 
to increase his, little force to five times its number in a few days. His 
strength being thus adapted to any occasion which could be expected 
to offer, after sweeping away the enemy from the south side of the 
river, he proceeded to break up the posts in the counties on the north- 
ern bank. In the end, though the enemy were nominally in posses- 
sion 'of all the country between James river and Roanoke, they held no 
post higher than Lynchburg, nor any farther south than Farmville. 
Above this last place, their scouts and foraging parties showed them- 
selves occasionally, but never ventured to leave the banks of James 
river for more than a single night. 1 

At Lynchburg, not long before the time at which our story com- 
mences, two companies had been posted. As Douglas had never shown 
a force of more than a hundred men, no fear of an attack on that point 
was entertained. But suddenly collecting a number of auxiliaries, he 
struck, at them, drove them from their post, enriched his men with 
everything that the laws of war permitted him to seize, and retreated 
to his stronghold in the mountains. The supplies of arms, ammuni- 
tion, clothing, and blankets thus procured, put him in a condition to 
increase his corps, if necessary. Thus, at the time of which we speak, 
having little more than a hundred men embodied, he could have 
marched five times that number to Richmond; and, for any service 
nearer at hand,- could have commanded a yet larger force. Though 
unprovided with many of the conveniences of military life, they were not 
deficient in essentials. There was " not a bit of feather in his host," nor 
drum, nor trumpet, nor banner. But there were stout hearts, and 
strong hands, and fleet limbs, and good rifles, and knives and toma- 
hawks; and that system and harmony which spring from a sense of 
danger, a high purpose, and confidence in a leader. To the. listening 
ear, a whisper speaks louder than a trumpet to the heedless. To the 
trusting heart, the chieftain's voice supersedes the spirit-stirring drum. 

While Douglas thus maintained his position among the mountains, 
it became a sort of Cave of Adullam. His little corps was a neucleus 
to which the discontented and persecuted gathered continually. His 
ea:bddied force was increased, while the organization of the neighbor- 
ing population became more perfect, their confidence firmer, their zeal 
more ardent. So efl'ectually had he broken the power of the Central 
Government in that quarter, that it had been deemed expedient to 
throw a much larger force into Lynchburg, to curb his progress in that 


direction, and to restrain the disaffected in the counties along the north 
bank of James river. Could he have co-operated with the friends of 
Virginia there, it was not clear that the flame might not spread on and 
on, in the direction of Washington, until the very seat of empire might 
be unsafe. Hence a regiment had been detached from the army at 
Richmond, and another from the North, originally destined for that 
place, was turned aside to Lynchburg. Aware of these movements, 
Douglas had no doubt that the purpose of such an assemblage of force 
was not merely preventive. He saw that attempts would be made to 
recover the ground which the enemy had lost on the south side of 
James river; and that, by remaining strictly on the defensive, he 
might be forced to withdraw his embodied force to their mountain 
stronghold, and not only lose the aid of his irregulars, but give them 
up to the vengeance of the enemy. Under these circumstances, at- 
tack was the most effectual form of defence, and boldness was true pru- 

The time, too, was at hand for the decisive movement, in the lower 
counties, for the relief of Richmond. The desired diversion had been 
effected, and Douglas found himself capable of bringing into the field 
a force, the presence of which would be no inconsiderable aid to that 
about to assemble below. To strike at his enemy therefore, to over- 
whelm him, if possible, and, if not,- to elude him and fall down to the 
assistance of B — , seemed to him the surest plan for preserving the 
safety and independence even of the mountain region. If successful, 
every desirable end would be accomplished. Even should he fail, his 
duty to the faithful yeomanry and peasantry of that devoted section 
was rather to draw the enemy away after him toward Richmond, than 
by falling directly back, or even by remaining where he was, to invite 
them to overrun the country which had afforded him such zealous and 
efficient co-operation. 

Influenced by these considerations, Douglas had despatched Schwartz 
to lay them before B — , and receive his instructions. He had long 
ago recognized him as the person of whom his aunt had said that " the 
destiny of Virginia depended on him." He had received at his hands 
the sort of authority which he wielded, now indeed by his own per- 
sonal influence and character, but originally as the trusted representa- 
tive of B — . He had no mind to shake off that character. He had 
seen that, by means not exactly understood, that gentleman comiaand- 
ed resources, both at home and abroad, which enabled him to meditate 
plans in which all the operations of Douglas's corps, however brilliant, 
were but circumstances -of less importance in themselves than in <iaeir 


, Schwartz was the sole medium of communication between the two. 
With nothing in his appearance to attract attention — nothing in his 
manners or common style of conversation betokening powers superior 
to those of any other peasant — his intelligence and fidelity supplied 
the place of letters. He understood everything, and forgot nothing 
that was said to him. He therefore. carried no papers, and passed un- 
suspected through the country, amusing, with the most harmless gos- 
sip, all he chanced to fall in with. He was a man who knew how to 
have business anywhere and at any moment ; and he passed along more 
like a sparrow hopping from twig to twig, pecking at a berry here and 
a leaf there, and never seeming to have an ulterior object, than with 
the strong-winged flight which indicates a distant and important desti- 

In one of Arthur's visits to Lucia, (his betrothal with whom was no« 
longer a secret in her father's family,) he was made acquainted with 
Douglas's marriage. He was also entrusted with the important infor- 
mation that, the gallant leader, with whose exploits the country rung, 
and whom his imagination had endued with almost superhuman powers, 
was his own best beloved brother. He was instantly on fire to join 
him, and Schwartz was instructed to convey to him the necessary in- 
telligence; and, if possible, to fall in with him on the way. But he 
had been turned aside by objects of higher moment on his return, and 
Arthur had got ahead of him. Having ascertained this fact in the 
county of Charlotte, where their roads came together, Schwartz tra- 
velled hard to overtake him ; left his tired horse at the entrance of the 
defile, and, following on foot, came up with him as we have seen. 



It is, that she will cherish the renown 

Of noble deeds, achieved her name to grace j 

And prize the heart that beat for her alone, 
In Glory's triumph, or in Death's embrace. 


Let us now return to the deep glen, at the bottom of which we left 
% our friend Arthur, accompanied by his mountain guide. Schwartz was 
welcomed with cordial joy by his comrades, and, having asked for the 
Captain, was told he was in his tent. Arthur looked around in vain 
for a tent, but saw none. The beetling crags on both sides of the dell 
seemed to be the only shelter that the place afforded. But against the 
rook, a hundred yards below, and directly beneath the spot from which 
Schwartz had given notice of his presence, hung a piece of tent-cloth. 
One edge of this was tacked to a pole which lay horizontally against 
the rocky wall, the ends being supported by forks about ten feet long. 
This proved to be a sort of door to a wide-mouthed cavernous recess in 
the rock, deep enough to afford room for the few liltle conveniences 
which an officer can expect to keep about him in active service. Ap- 
proaching this, Schwartz lifted a corner, and our travellers stood in the 
presence of Douglas. 

He was seated at a course table, poring over a rude manuscript map, 
and did not lift his head until he heard the word ' brother' uttered by 
the well-known voice of Arthur. In a moment they were in each 
other's arms, and, in the next, the new-comer was overwhelmed with 
questions about his father, mother, and various friends. Some indeed 
were not named; for, though Schwartz was in the secret of the fact, 
he was incapable of being let into the deeper mystery of hearts like 
those of Douglas and Delia. To such the utterance of a .beloved name 
in the presence of the uninitiated is an unpardonable profanation. But 
though that of Delia was not spoken, Arthur took care so to emphasize 
his account of the health of his uncle's family, as to convey to the 
mind of Douglas an assurance of all he wished to hear. But if 
Schwartz was not deep in the tender mysteries of refined and delicate 
love, no man better understood a hint,~or better knew how to improve 
it. He accordingly interrupted the conversation, just to say that he 


brought important intelligence, which must be communicated that 
night ;, adding that he would leave them together for an hour. He 
now withdrew^ and afforaed the desired opportunity for unreserved 

" My. Delia," said Douglas; '/I understmd that she is well, and, I 
hope, happy. '^ " ^ , ^ 

" She is happy," said Arthur. " She hears of you, from the im- 
partial voice of public fame, in terms that fill her heart with pride, and 
leave no room there for alarm or melancholy. She feels as becomes a 
soldier's wife,, anxious for her husband's fate, but confident in his 
fortunes. She has caught this notion from Mr. B — , who is her oracle, 
and who seems to have imparted to her, not only all his sentiments, but 
all the energy and buoyancy of his self-confident mind." 

"Thank God !" said. Douglas. " Just so would I have her to be.. I 
knew it would be so. I saw her noble mother, when danger threatened 
my uncle:; and I saw her too. But this is the first positive informa- 
tion on that point, that has reached* me since I have been here. Mr. 
B— and I can «only correspond by messages through Schwartz, and 
though he is plain and accurate as a printed book in repeating what he 
understands', yet idea's of this sort are not in his line. And my good 
and venerable old father— are you here with his permission V 

"I am not; nor does he know where I am. I have no doubt that I 
should have his approbation if he did.* I am sure you have." 
; , '." I !" exclaimed Douglas, with a start of violent surprise. " What 
does he know of me." 

"Nothing at all," said Arthur, smiling. "But he knows of a 
certain partisan leader, whom the world calls Captain Douglas, and if I 
cah read the old man's eyes, when he hears that name, he would rather 
call that man his son than any other on earth." 

As Arthur spoke the eyes of Douglas filled, and pressing his hand 
to his brow, he bowed his head a moment on the table. Then rising, 
he stood erect, and looking up with a rapt and abstracted air, his eye 
flashing througn his tears, he folded his arms, and speaking in the 
measured tone of one who feels deeply, but in whose mind thought 
masters feeling, he parodied that noble speech which Shakspeare puts 
in the mouth of Prince Henry : 

"Then in the closing of some glorious day, 
"When I shall wear a garment, all of blood, 
"And stain my favors with a bloody mask, 
" I will be bold to tell him, ' I am your son/ " 

" And my Delia ! — my virgin bride ! ! for that day, 


"When woman's pure kiss, sweet and long, 

"Welcomes her warrior home." 


"I tell you, Arthur, that, in thoughts like these, there is a rapture 
which makes this hole in the rock a palace, and this flinty couch a hed 
of down. Are you prepared, my dear fellow, to partake with me in 
such feelings? That, I know, depends in part on Lucia. What of 

" She is to me'," said Arthur, " all that Delia is to you ; though she 
is too young to have the same strength of mind, and I have no right 
to expect the same confidence in my prowess and fortunes." 

" Never fear. It will not be wanting at the pinch. A woman never 
fears for the safety of him she loves but when she doubts his truth. 
Let her feel that she is his second self, and self-confidence, calms her 
fears. Let her feel that she lives in his heart, and, strong in love, she 
defies the dagger which assails it. Calphurnia trembled for Caesar. 
Why ? He was the husband of every woman in Rome. Had he 
been true to her, she would have felt only that prudent fear that^he 
would not have derided. He would, perhaps, have yielded to her dis- 
creet remonstrance, and her love would have justified the confidence 
which characterizes the love of woman, by saving his life. But, what 
a rhapsody I am uttering! You say my father does not know where 
you are? How is that?" , 

" I was not at liberty to acquaint him with your secret. Your ab- 
sence has drawn on him some displeasure from those in power, and 
their minions are all around him. It seems that you are supposed to 
be in the South for no good purpose, and not without an understanding 
with him. My disappearance will attract farther notice. For that* he 
cares little; but he is so scrupulous in his notions of honor and truth, 
that, were he questioned about us, he could hardly conceal any thing 
he might know. Your letters, I see, still come from the South, though 
they say nothing of your whereabout. Of course, he thinks you are 
there; and I, without undeceiving him, simply asked leave to go to 
look for you. That his feelings are with us, I have no doubt. But he 
is so beset by spies, and so hampered by the position of our brothers in 
the army and navy, that he even tries to hide the secret of his thoughts 
from himself." 

Thus the brothers conversed until Schwartz returned and claimed 
the Captain's ear; who began by asking what news he brought from 

" The Colonel (so he always designated B — ) likes your plan mightily, 
sir," replied Schwartz, " if you can rub through with it. But he is 


afraid, from all he can learn, that- them fellows at Lynchburg may be 
too many fur you; so, he says, you nust find out exactly how that is, 
and if you don't think it a pretty good chance, just slip down along 
the line, toward the middle of November, and join him." 

" If- 1 do so, where am I to find him precisely ?" asked Douglas. 
"Just where the Petersburg railroad crosses the line," said Schwartz. 
-' You see the folks there are all friendly, because as long as things stay 
as they are, their railroad an't worth an old flint, and so they are patch- 
ing up all the old cars, and fixing every thing for the Colonel, as soon 
as he can start a regiment or so, to make a dash at Petersburg, and so 
hold on there till the rest of his men join him. Now, if we were to be 
the first there, Captain, I have a notion that we'd be the very boys for 
them chaps at Petersburg." 

" I should like that well," said Douglas. " But I understand my old 
acquaintance, Col. Mason, at Lynchburg, has a great desire to see me, 
and I should hate to disappoint him." 

" I don't think he commands there now," said Schwartz. "There 
is another regiment come from the North to join him, and they say the 
other is the oldest colonel." 

" That is of course," said Douglas, " for Mason is the youngest in 
the army. But I am not sorry for the exchange, for they have hardly 
sent as good a one. There is not a man among them I would not 
rather meet than Mqson. Have you been able to learn the particulars 
of their force there?" 

" A3 well as I can understand," replied Schwartz, " the whole num- 
ber is not far from a thousand, and may be a few more." 

" A thousand ! Can we raise men enough to strike at them before 
they think of it ?" 

" I have not a doubt of it, sir, if we could get at them on fair terms. 
The people along down between here and Staunton river don't like the 
thoughts of what them fellows may do to them, and they are keen to 
take them before they are ready. I talked to the head-men among 
them as you told me, and they all see that the right way is to try to get 
the first blow. Because, you see, Captain, when we an't gaining we 
are losing. If we let the enemy hold Lynchburg, and they find two 
regiments will not do, they will bring four, and so on, till they get the 
upper hand, and then they will pay these poor fellows about here for 
old and new. Bu: if we could make out to give them a real beating, 
and so drive them clean off, why all the country as far as the Rappa- 
hannock would rise that minute, and they'd have enough to do to hold 
their own at Fredericksburg." 

" I suppose you said all this to Mr. B — ?" 



"To be sure* I did, sir; and he thinks just as we do about it, only 
he is dubious about attacking a fortified camp, as they call it, just with 

'" He is right about that," replied Douglas. " Riflemen are the best 
troops in the world to defend a breast work, but they are the worst to 
attack one. I had hopes, however, that we might have drawn out the 
enemy by some device, even when -Mason commanded. n He is too 
brave to be ashamed to be prudent. I wish I knew whom they have 
sent to supersede him. But whoever he is, it is a hundred to one, that 
being set over»the head of an abler man, he will be impatient to show 
his superiority by reversing his predecessor's plans, and shaming the 
prudence of Mason by some hasty display of valor. If I did but know 
who was in~ command I" 

" I tried to find that out," replied Schwartz ; " because I knew you 
were pretty welj acquainted with the most of them. You remember, 
sir, you told me from the first almost exactly how this Col. Mason was 
going to do. But I could not find any body that could tell me the 
new Colonel's name. But whoever he is, Mr. B — thinks, and so do I, 
(but that is nothing,) and I have a notion you do too partly, sir, that 
if we mean to do any thing with them, we must try to catch them some- 
where between here and Lynchburg." 

"I am afraid that is all too true," said Douglas, "and if* no such 
chance offers, we shall have to give them the slip, as B — - proposes; and 
I should hate it." 

"And so would I," said Schwartz; "and so you see, sir, I have 
been trying to fix a sort of a plan to draw them out, and that is what I 
want to tell you about." 

What this plan was, the next chapter shall disclose. 



And yet I knew him a ..notorious liar; 

Think him a great-way fool; — solely a coward 


" You must understand, Captain," continued Schwartz, " that I had 
allotted to fall in with your Brother about Little Roanoke bridge, where 
our roads come together. The people there are friendly, and mighty 
clever people, and if they don't know all about me, they don't want 
much of it; for they are our "own sort of folks, and true as steel. So 
I thought I could depend on them to take notice Tor me when such a 
'man might pass, and let me know. When I got there, by all I could 
learn, your brother had not gone by; and, as I 'was pretty tired, and 
that is one of the places where I commonly lie *by to pick up news, I 
thought I would stop a while. 

"I had not been, there long, before here comes the Captain that 
commands. the company at Farmville; and, if ever I saw a conceited 
fool, you may be sure he is one. What he was after, the Lord knows. 
He said he was a reconnoitering, but I have a notion he was just look- 
ing for some body to talk to ; and as the folks there an't got much chat 
for any body, he just claps to talking to me. And he run on about 
one thing and another, and there was nothing I wanted to know but 
whathe told mo, only just I knew it all before. But I thought, may 
be, I might get something out of him, so I let him talk, and I sot and 

"After a while he gets to talking about you. And, Lord ! how he 
wished jou would come in his way; and how he would have served 
you, if jou had -tried to beat up his quarters, like you did them fel- 
lows at Lynchburg. But he was in hopes to -have a clip at you yet, 
only just you were always hiding and skulking in the mountains, like a 
wolf, and then- coming down in the night to kill sheep. And he 
reckoned you lenevj where the dogs was, and took care to keep out of 
their way. And then he laughed, and thought he was mighty smart. 
So, thinks I, ' stranger, if you have a mind to get into 'hot water, may 
be you may have a chance/ So I speaks up; and, says I, ' after all, that 
Captain Douglas an't half the man he's cracked up for, no how.' " 

" Do you .know him ?" says he. 

" I -guess I do," says I; "he is cunning enough, and he has got 


tricks enough, and signs and countersigns to keep out of harm's way; 
but," says I, "if a man could just get hold of his signs, and so get' at 
,him, he an't nothing for a right, real, hard fight." 

" They tell me," says he, " there an't no such thing as getting in 
twenty miles of him, or more, may be; and all the folks through the 
country there stands guard for him, and nobody else knows where heis." 

" That's very true," says I; " but then, you see, stranger, when too 
many folks has got a secret, then it an't a secret no more." 

"It's a wonder," says he, "some of them don't tell." 

'•'May be they cannot get any thing by telling," says I. "There's" 
many a poor fellow there, to my knowing, 'that don't see a dollar once 
a year, and its mighty little' the sight of a few yellow jackets would not 
make them tell, only just they never seed any, and don't know what 
they are. But they'd be right apt to find *out." 

" You talk like you know that part of the country," says he. "May 
be you know something about it." 

"May be I might,"* says I. "But "then," says I, "it don't become 
a poor fellow, like me,*to know any thing that a grand officer, with his 
fine apperlets, all of solid gold, don't know. Lord !" -says I, " if I had 
but half the money you give for your apperlets, I reckon I'd know 
something then." 

" And with that, he looks right hard at me, and says he, 'may be 
you'd like to list for a soldier.' 

" May be I would," says I, " if they pays me well. 'Cause you see,'' 
says I, " sir, as to the country and the President, and all that, its what 
I don't know nothing about; only I takes their part as talces my part. 
And that's the reason," says I, " I would not stay up yonder." 

" Why," says he, "do you live there, when you-are at home?" 

" I cannot say," says I, " that I have got a home rightly any where. 
But I did live there, after a fashion ; and they wanted me to do like 
the rest of them, and quit my business and keep guard, and stop every 
man that could not give the signs. And what was I to get by it ? 
Just nothing at all. If. I had any bread of my own to eat, why I 
might eat it; and if I killed a deer, they'd take their share, and 
thought they did great things if they let me keep the skin ; but as to- 
pay, they don't think of such a thing. But that would not do for me," 
says I; " and, more than that, it won't do for more, besides me, what- 
ever Captain Douglas may think of it, I can tell him." 

" Well," says he, " if you'll list with me you shall have pay, and 
bounty, and clothes, and rations, and all. 'Cause," says he, " the Presi- 
dent, he keeps the key of the treasury, and we are his soldieTs, and we 
all live like fighting cocks, I can tell you." 


".Well," says I,*' I'd like to list well enough, only just I guess if 
once you had me for a soldier, you'd make me tell all I know, and ax 
me no odds; and," says I, "I have been a-thinking, if I'bould meet 
with any right clever gentleman, that would pay me for telling, I'd tell 
it all first, and then list afterwards. 

" Well," says he, "do you know Douglas's signs, enough to carry a 
man to his camp as a friend ?" 

"I guess I do," says I, " and more than that, too " 
" And what do you know," says he. 
, " That's telling," says I. * 

" But," says he, " I want to know all about it," says he, "because 
Col. Mason, there, at Lynchburg, is determined to break Douglas up, 
if he can get at him; and he is looking every day for more men from 
the North to help him." 

" Well," says I, " I can put him in a way to get at him, and not go 
up there into the mountains, neither. 'Cause," sa_,s I, "that's an 
ugly place. It an't one regiment, nor two neither, hardly, that could 
do much there. And then, again, if Douglas was to find too many 
coming against him, he'd be away t'other side of Salem before they'd 
get there." 

" AndTiow is a body to get at him ?" says he. 
" Ah !" says I, " that's a long story." 

"^Wefl," says he, " I see what you are after, and if you'll put me in 
a. way to give Col. Mason a fair clip at him., it will make my fortune, 
and then I'll be bound to see you ,paid handsomely." 
" That an't what I am after," says I. 
" Why, don't j ou want money ?" says he. 
" To be sure I do," says I; " but that an't money." 
" Well," says he, " tell me wh t you <:an do, and I will tell you what 
I'll do:" 

"That's something- like," says I. "As to what I can do, I can put 
you in a way to catch Captain Douglas out of the mountains, with as 
many men as you please to bring agin him." 

:■ " Well," says he, " if you'll do that, I'll pay you a hundred dollars." 
" The dear Lord !" says I. " A hundred dollars ! I never expected 
to have that much money in my life!" 

" May, be it's too much," says he. " May be fifty will do ?" 
"No, no," says I ; " a hundred will do mighty well ; so let me have 
the cash, and I'll tell you all." 

" That won't do," says he. " How do I know that what you are 
going to tell me will do me any good?" 

" Well," says I, " I reckon if one won't another will." 


So, with that, he studied a while, and says he : " Well, I'll give you 
my note for a hundred dollars, to be paid directly after Col. Mason gets 
a lick at Douglas in the low- country, by my help." 

" Cannot you give me an order on Mr. Morton, here, in the same 
way?" says I. 

" You are mighty tight," says he ; " but may be I can." 

So with that he speaks to Mr. Morton, and he agreed to accept the 
order. You see, sir, Mr. Morton, as I told you, is a true-hearted Vir- 
ginian ; and he knows me, and I just sorter winked at him, to let him 
know all was safe. For as to that fellow paying him again, after he 
paid me, Mr. Morton had'nt no thought of it, nor I neither. But. he 
seed what I was after, and says he to the Captain : "To be sure, sir, 
its nothing I would not,do to serve the country." And with that they 
fixed the order all right, and gives it- to .me, and I slips it back again 
into Mr. Morton's hand. And then I takes the Captain out again, and 
tells him the way up here; and, says I, "Now, if you can get to see 
Captain Douglas, you must fix a good story to tell him." 

" And what must that be ?" says he. 

" Why, you havj only just to tell him that you, have raised a parcel 
of men in Bedford county, or somewhere thereaway, sorter toward 
Lynchburg, and ycu want to know where to join him. Then he'll be 
sure to tell you when he is coming down out of the. mountains, and he'll 
name a place for you to meet him at, and then if you don't fix him 
about right, it an't my fault." 

" But how am I to get to him ?" says he. 

" That's it," says I, " and that's what you never could do without 
help. You see," says I, " sir, every man in that country lives by hunt- 
ing, more or less; and every man. has a rifle for himself, and one for 
every one of his boys, and may be more. And when a fellow is going 
any where, he never knows when he may see a deer; so you never can 
catch them without their rifles. But then you may travel all through 
the country, and you won't see a man that looks any ways like a soldier. 
And when they want to stop a man, they don't bawl at him and ask 
for the countersign. That sort of thing may do in an army, but it 
won't do with folks that have not got an army to back them. So you 
may fall in with ever so many of them, and they'll find you out ; but 
if they choose to let you pass, you'll never find them out, nor know 
what they are after." 

" But how are they to find me out," says he, " if" they an't got no 
countersign?" • ■:-'/■■. 

" They an't got no countersign, rigidly" says I; "but it is pretty 
much the same thing, if a man asks a civil question, and you ,don't 


know what answer to give him. Now suppose you were travelling along 
there, and you meets one of them fellows, and he was» to ask you, 
miighty innocent like, what parts you were from. What would you 

f'l don't know," says he. " May be I'd fell him I was from down 
about Halifax court-house." 

" And. that minute," says I, "he'd know all about you." 

" How's that," says he. 

" Why, that's the way they ax for the countersign," says I. 

" What is the countersign 1" says he. 

'■" Currituck," says I ; " when they ax you that you must say you 
come from Currituck.". > 

"And is. that all?" says he. "Why that is a countersign, sure 
enough. But don't they never change it ?" 

, "No," says I; "the men are too much scattered all through the 
country, for that; but it 'answers mighty well, the way they fix it. 
They don't let you off with one question, just so, but they'll ask you 
a heap more; and they'll say a heap of simple things to you, just to 
hear what you'll say; and just about the time you think you have 
fooled them, they'll find you out. There's a parcel of sharp fellows 
up thereaway, mind, I tell you; and you'll have to get your lesson 
mighty well before you go there. You see, some will ask you one 
question and some another. You don't know what its going to be ; so 
I must tell you all the straight of it, and you must practise before we 
part; and then," says I, "you can write it all down, and all the way 
you go you can be saying it over." So, with that, sir, I tells him the 
biggest part of our questions : but you may be sure I give him wrong 
answers to every one of them. But then I told our people at the dif- 
ferent stations along about him, and told them to pass liim, and never 
let, him know but what his answers were all right. So then I tells him 
that when he got to you, you would want to know, may be, how he 
came by the signs ; and, says I, " .when he axes you that, you must tell 
him you -got them from Job Dixon," says I. "That's a fellow the 
Captain keeps busy recruiting away down the country, and when he 
hears that, he won'tsuspicion you the least in the world ; 'cause you 
see," says I, " the man they call Job Dixon has got another name 
besides that, and that name an't nothing but a sort of countersign 
for the Captain to know the men by that he sends in." You see, 
Captain, I fixed all this way, that I might let you know exactly, so that 
if the fellow should come when I was out of the way, you might know 
what to think of him, just as if I was here. And it won't do to let 
him see me, no how. 


"Job Dixon!" said Doug-las. "Well, let me make a memorandum 
of that name." 

Saying this, he took a letter from his pocket, and endorsing the 
name of Job Dixon on the back of it, as that of the writer, threw it 
on the table. • 

" That will do," said Schwartz. " He will be here bright and early 
in the morning, and when he sees that, he will feel as safe as a rat in a 

" Here in the morning !" said Douglas. " How can you be sure of that ?" 

"I seed him from the top of the mountain"," replied Schwartz, 
" when Witt stopped him. I told Witt, to keep him all night, and 
send him on in the morning, with a couple of fellows to show him the 
way, and guard him." 

"If that is the case," said Douglas, "I can meet him at the piquet, 
and stop him there ; for I would rather he should not see this place. 
But what arrangement would you advise . me- to make with him ?" 

" Why the Colonel says," replied Schwartz, " that he wants you to 
join him at his rendezyons about the last of November, or may be a 
little earlier; so whatever you do ought to be done time enough to fall 
back, if we get worsted, and slip along down the line, according to 
your old plan. So I am a thinking it would be well to fix the time fbr 
meeting this fellow about the tenth of the month, and then, if we can 
catch them in their cwn trap, we shall have time to follow, up the blow 
and break up their whole establishment there at Lynchburg, and then 
march boldly down the straight road." 

" Do you know of any crossing place on Staunton river, in the di- 
rection of Lynchburg," asked Douglas, "that would answer for an am- 
buscade ?" 

" I have a notion," said Schwartz, " that Jones's Ford would suit as 
well as any other; because there's a deep hollow comes down on both 
sides of it, and thick woods on the hills." 

" That will do then," said Douglas. " So now let us take our sup- 
per and go to rest ; for I must be at the piquet in time to meet your 
man. Before you go to sleep, suppose you send one of our boys- to tell 
them to stop him if he gets there before me." 

The supper was produced, and fully justified what Witt had told 
Arthur of the fare he might expect. As to lodging, bear-skins were 
plenty, and so were blankets, which had been collected during the 
expedition against Lynchburg. But a rock is a hard bed, put on it 
what you will. Yet youth, and health, and high excitement, gave 
Arthur a most luxurious supper, and a night of such sleep as the best 
lodged prince in Europe might envy. 



The sunl'ess glen, whose sunken shrubs must weep. 

When Arthur awoke, he found himself alone. The sun was high 
in the heavens, but' a deep shadow hung over the .dark glen, into which 
his rays never looked, except at noon-day. Arthur now walked out. 
and amused himself with gazing around on the singular spot which his 
brother had chosen as a place of refuse. It was, indeed, a place of 
strength, which seemed calculated to bid defiance to any thing but 

The glen, at this point, might be eome two hundred feet deep. Above 
and below, the little streauTfilled the whole chasm, pouring furiously 
along between overhanging cliffs. The tops' of these, except in the 
immediate vicinity, were crowned with lofty trees, which, nodding to 
each other across the gulph, in some places nearly intermingled their 
branches. The .valley, jfet where Douglas had pitched his camp, .was 
somewhat wider. Just above, the stream seemed to gush from the very 
bowels of the mountain, dashing, as it tumbled over a fall of twenty 
or thirty feet, against the dark evergreens which clustered both side; 
of the gulph. From thence, flowing through a wider space, it still 
confined itself to a narrow and deep channel, scooped into an almost 
cavernous bed, under the western cliff. Thence, turning abruptly to 
the southeast, it swept across the dell to the opposite hill, from which 
it again recoiled in like manner. There was thus, on each side, between 
the hill and the receding stream, a spot of dry ground, or rather rock. 
It was indeed nothing but *a rocky shelf, a little above inundation, jut- 
ting in a half moon from 'the base of the cliff. About the nfiddle of 
its passage from hill to hill, the stream tumbled over a ledge, the highest 
points of which, rising above the water, served as stepping stones, and 
afforded a passage across, practicable indeed, but neither* commodious, 
nor, to the eye of a stranger, even safe. 

The sort of stair which afforded the only approach to this savage 
den, hung directly over the stream, at the point where, having crossed 
from the western side of the glen, it again whirled back, leaving, as 1 
have said, a dry spot on its eastern margin. At the upper corner of 


this shelf, where it touched the cliff, the path reached the bottom; 
and an hundred yards below, at the lower extremity of the same 
platform, hung the tent-cloth that indicated the quarters of the 

The sort. .of cave, the mouth of which was conceale°d by this, was but 
a deepening of the recess under the cliff, which every where afforded a 
partial shelter from' the weather, and a complete defence against rocks 
tumbled from above. Under this were the rude beds and camp-fires of 
the men, and in front of them a breast-work of logs, raised high enough 
to afford protection from any shot fired from the opposite hill. Between 
the upper log and that next' below it, was a sort of loop-hole, made 
by cutting corresponding notches in each ; and as the edges of 
the cliffs had been shorn of all their growth, a man could not 
show himself on either, without being exposed to the fatal fire of 
men directing their aim with a rest, and in all the coolness of perfect 

The most curious part of the whole establishment was a sort of mill. 
At the point where the stream, breaking over the rocky ledge of which 
I have spoken, swept away around the sfroulder of the platfornij was 
placed a small log pen. The end of a shaft, projecting from it, over- 
hung the water. Into this were driven stakes, fitted at one end into 
large auger-holes, and, at the other, spread out like a broad oar. These 
fan-like extremities dipped in the water, and,^'ielding^o its force, kept 
the shaft revolving night and day. Machinery equally rude connected 
its movements with those of a pair of- light mill-stones, which found no 
rest, and required no attention. Though grinding less than a bushel 
in the hour, it still ground on and on, affording coarse bread for the 
whole cpmpany, and showing how true the old adage, that " fair and 
softly go far in a day." One man was seen to replenish the hopper. 
Others were passing and re-passing, each with his sha?'e of nleal. The 
whole was (covered with rude boards. Exposed to the fire of each 
cliff, it was, of course, capable of being made to command both, and 
some of its features showed that it was intended to be occupied as a 
tower of strength in case of attack. 

In short, to the unpracticed «ye of Arthur, the whole presented the 
appearance of impregnable security and well arranged preparation. 
There was indeed ,no present danger, but the place had been chosen 
and fitted with a view to the last extremity. The course of the stream, 
tending to the South, led in a few miles into the State of North 
Carolina, and in that direction there was an outlet practicable, 
though difficult. Between the camp and the State "line there was 
no point at which the glen could be entered; and Douglas, if 


driven to retreat in that direction, had none but natural obstacles to 

Cold weather was now approaching, and there was no station where 
the troops of Douglas were so little exposed to the severity of the sea- 
son as this. The soft air from the waterfall, though never warm, was 
never intensely cold, and no other wind but that from the South ever 
entered the glen. Hence as many men as were not engaged on active 
duty were assembled here. Still the number* present was but small. 
Some were 'at the piquet, some on the scout. Besides, it was now the 
hunting season, and many were abroad in the woods, as the car- 
casses brought in during the course of the morning plainly showed. 

Arthur now looked around for Schwartz, and hearing his voice be- 
hind one of the breast-works, passed around the end of it, and. silently 
joining the circle, listened to his discourse, whyjh seemed to be a sort 
of military lecture. 

" You see, boys," said he, " as to tictacs, or whatever they call it, 
that sort of thing an't made for the like of us. When a parcel of 
fellows lists for soldiers, just because they an't got nothing else to do, 
and may be one half of them is cowards, and the other half not much 
better, they are obliged to hav& rules to go by. Because, if once you 
can beat it into a fellow's head that after he has got into danger it is 
safer for him to stand still than to run away, why then the worse scared 
he is the surer he will be to stay there.. But it an't so with us, be- 
cause if any of us was any way scary, he would not be here no how. 
The only rule for us is the Indian rule. 

"In the first place, it i3 our business always to know where the 
inimy is before he knows where we are, and then, if we don't want to 
fight him, Iceep out of his way. Now the right way to do that, is just 
to "squander, like a flock of partridges. 

" Then if you are going to fight, the only rule is to give the word; 
and let every man. kill all he can, and take care of himself the best he 
cab: TS'ow that way the riglars fight — if one man in ten kills a man, 
they call it desperate bloody work. But I reckon if there was an 
inimy now coming up the valley to the foot of the Devil's Back-bone, 
and the word was to kill all we could before he got there, any of us 
here, would feel mighty cheap if he did not kill somebody. 

" And mind, boys, whether we fight or run, whether we keep to- 
gether, or squander, 'two and two' is the word. You must all mate 
yourselves two and two, to stand together and run together, to fight 
together and die together. One of you must call himself number one, 
and the other number two, and then, if there's a hundred together and 


the inimy comes, number two never fires till number one has fired and 
loaded again. You see, men, a fellow takes good aim when he knows 
there's another one by, to hit if he misses"; and fifty rifles in that way 
will do more than a hundred when every one knows that's his last 
chance. Fifty rifles will stop a troop of horse, and a hundred cannot 
do no more. But if the guns are all empty, then here comes what's 
left of them slashing away with the broad-swords like devils. But let 
there be a few more guhs to pepper away at them while the first are 
loading, and they will go to the right-about mighty quick. • 

" Now mind what I tell you, boys, and the first time it comes to the 
pinch, you'll say old Schwartz did'nt fight Indians so long for nothing. 
And as to running, any man that's afraid to run when he sees cause, 
is half a coward, any how. Do you run just when you please. I God! 
|'d hate to depend on a man to fight that I could riot trust to run. 
There is no harm in running, if you know where you are running to, 
and your friends know it too ; and the right way is to fix a place, every 
morning, to meet at night, and let every man get there as he can, and 
do what mischief he can. But, mind, if it conies to that, always run 
two and two, and then one can help another; and if one comes up 
missing, the other can tell what's become of him. 

"I'm telling our boys," continuedj Schwartz, who now observed. Ar- 
thur, " some of the lessons I learned among the Shawnees.. You see, 
Mr. Arthur, (you must not think strange of my calling you so, sir, for 
all your family seem like, my own flesh and blood to me — for all you 
don't know how that is;) you see, sir, the Captain is a regular officer, 
built plum from the ground up ; but for all that, he knows that all this 
is true ; and, before now, when he and I have been setting over the 
lire, at night, he has told me about one Gineral Braddock, I think they 
called him, that got his men shot all to pieces, and himself, too, just be- 
cause he would not believe that there was any other way to fight but just 
his way. Now, you see, sir, the reason why he was taken at an onplush 
was, that he was fighting agin Indians. Well, suppose we fight Indian 
fashion — will not that be pretty much the same thing ? May be we 
an't exactly- up to that, but we must do the best we can ; for as to 
fighting the riglars just in their own way, why they'll beat us as long 
as the sun shines. 

" Do you mind that night," continued Schwartz, laughing, " when 
the Lieutenant and his men came there to your uncle's to take him and 
the Captain ? That was Indian play for you. I God ! if I had not 
heard that fhe Colonel was there, I should have knowed he was at' the 
fixing of that business. You see, sir, that is what a man learns by liv- 
ing in places where a body is never safe ; and the upshot of it is, that 


after a while he gets t so that he never can be in any danger. It's like 
learning to sleep with one eye always open." 

Schwartz now rose from the ground,, where he had been sitting, and 
brushing the ashes from his leathers, joined Arthur, and they repaired 
to the tent where their simple meal awaited them. From him the 
youth learned that his brother had repaired to the piquet at an early 
hour ; and to. the piquet, gentle reader, weVill now follow. 



-He has merit : 

Sufficient for itself its own reward. 

Why; think of him ! An honorable fool, 

He seeks no other guerdon. Anonymt/s. 

Douglas was at the piquet long enough before the arrival of his 
guest, to make such arrangements as should prevent the stranger from 
suspecting that this was not the camp he was desirous to see. He had 
no mind that his enemy should know the real nature and precise posi- 
tion of his main stronghold. Hence he had determinea^to give him 
the meeting at the piquet, and took pains to provide, as if for his own 
ordinary accommodation, such a breakfast as he would have been con- 
tent to furnish at his own quarters for the most honored visiter. 

The spy, who had learned little of his profession but that self-indul- 
gent art which is technically called " playing old soldier," had been in 
no haste to leave his rest, and Witt, who understood Schwartz's game,, 
did not hurry him. The breakfast hour, therefore, had fully arrived 
before he made his appearance. He came accompanied by Witt and 
another of his party; and, in appearance and manners, fully answered 
the description of him given by Schwartz. He was a tall, red-haired 
man, vain, pert, and full of self-complacency. Indeed, so much did 
he display of a satisfaction, at once chuckling and childish, that Dou- 
glas, even though unwarned, must have suspeete'd treachery. Besides, he^ 
never could have believed a being, manifestly so frivolous and foolish, 
capable of the high purpose of devoting himself to a life of toil, hard- 
ship, and danger. The vain and self-indulgent may receive momentary 
impulses, under the influence of which brilliant achievements may be 
suddenly accomplished ; but from such the tasks of study, virtue, and 
enduring courage, must never be expected. 

He seemed, at first, more intent upon his "breakfast than anything 
else, and when it appeared, made faces at his coarse fare which ill ac- 
corded with his professed indifference to all personal inconvenience. 
But, bad as it was, he contrived to swallow enough to show that he was 
not prepared to play the ascetic any more in regard to the quantity 
than the quality of his food. 

" You see," said Douglas, " the life we lead. If you are not pre- 


pared to submit cheerfully to privations, compared to which what you 
see here is luxury, you should not join us." 

"Damn luxury," said the other. " What do I care about luxury ? 
To be sure, I have been used to it all my life; coffee or tea, ope, every 
morning for breakfast ; and good light bread, and potatoes and pies; and 
then, fordinner, pork or fresh meat, or codfish at least every day in the week, 
and all sorts of &ass ; and then pies again, and cheese, and all that. But I am 
ready to give it all up to serve my country, and live as hard as anybody." 

" I am glad to hear it," said Douglas, drawing some papers from .his 
pocket. Among these he affected to search in vain for a particular pa- 
per, and in doing so, carelessly threw on the table the letter endorsed 
with the name Job Dixon. He saw that it caught the other's eyes, 
and, expressing some dissatisfaetion at his own carelessness, said : "You 
have a right to know, before you join us, all about our force, and I 
ought to show you my last return ; but I have it not at hand, though I 
believe I know pretty well the number of my men. But stay," con- 
tinued he, interrupting himself, with a start, and looking at the gallant 
Captain with a keenness that made his very back ache, " How came 
you by my pass-words, sir ?" 

" I got them from a man they call Job Dixon," replied the trembling 

" Job Dixon !" replied ' Douglas, immediately resuming his compla- 
cency, l J then all is right." 

" yes, all is right," said the other, recovering, from his alarm, but 
more fluttered and confused than ever. " He told me that wa'nt his 
name, sure enough, and he said that name was only a sort of a counter- 
sign to you." 

It coat Douglas some effort to suppress a smile at seeing the delicate 
and dangerous office of a spy undertaken by one so destitute of all the 
qualities necessary to it; but he commanded himself, and asked whether 
the other was, now content to join him. 

" To be sure I am," said he; " and not only I, but fifty more as good 
fellows as ever stepped shoe-leather. You see, that waswhat I doubted 
about. I thought may be as I had such a company, I had a right to 
set up for myself; ,but after I heard all about you from that man, Job 
Dixon, or whatever else his name is, I made up my mind to join you." 

" Where are your men V asked Douglas. 

"They are all about home yet," said the Captain, "but I can bring 
them together any day, and any place you please to name. I suppose 
you don't mean to stay up-here in the mountains all the time, and may 
be it might suit as well for me to fall in with you somewhere." 

" That is true," said Douglas. " We are not so well off here for ra- 


lions as to want anybody before we have use for them. As long as we 
stay here we are strong enough. A regiment of men could not climb 
the Devil's Back-bone> before our faces. But I propose to move shortly, 
and should be glad of a reinforcement on the way. What county are 
your men in ?" 

_ "In Bedford county/' replied the other, repeating his lesson exactly. 

" That will do, then," said Douglas. " I propose to march against 
Mason, at Lynchburg, early in November, and on the fifth day of the 
month I will meet you at Jones's Ford, on Staunton river." 

" I cannot say that 1 know exactly where that is," said the spy. 

" It is little out of your way into any part of Bedford county," said 
Douglas; "and as I want to see some of our friends down in that quar- 
ter, I will ride there with you. I am told Mason is pretty strong, and 
I want to get all the force I can, and that is not so much but what I 
shall be glad of your help." 

"How many men have you?" asked the Yankee Captain. 

"I have but a kandful here, just now; but I am sending out orders 
for more to join on the route, and I am in hopes to reach the river 
with four hundred at least. ' I shall stay there, at all events, till more 
come in ; because it would be foolish to attack Mason's regiment with 
less than five or six hundred." 

" That will do," said the other ; " for Mason is not more than' four 
hundred strong." 

" Indeed !" replied Douglas, affecting surprise and pleasure. " Then I 
am pretty sure of him. I had heard as much before, but I don't trust 
everybody. I was afraid there was a trap set for me; but now I am 
satisfied, and if I can leave Staunton river with six hundred men, I 
shall gather force enough before I get to Lynchburg to drive Mason 
and his regiment before me like chaff." 

Having said this, Douglas set about the necessary arrangements for 
accompanying his new acquaintance to Jones's Ford. As the distance 
was too great for one day, he proposed to pass the night at the house of 
a trusty friend, from whence the Yankee officer would have it in his 
power to reach a tavern, two miles beyond the river, the next day. He 
now despatched a note to Arthur, saying that he wished to examine the 
ground at the river, in company with him and Schwartz. He there- 
fore directed them to follow at a cautious distance, so as not to be seen 
by the spy ; to pass them in the night, and take up their quarters at a 
house in advance, and the next day proceed to the dwelling of Mr. 
Gordon, (a staunch friend,) near the river, and wait for him there. 
Meantime a horse, that stood piqueted hard by, was saddled, and Dou- 



das set out, accompanied by the treacherous Captain and the faithful 

,The journey -was made* without any occurrence worth noting. In 
the conversation of the stranger there was nothing to beguile Douglas 
from his own thoughts.. The vain babble of the prating coxcomb was 
all wasted on the impenetrable Witt; and, after a few fruitless attempts 
to overcome the taciturnity of his companions, he followed their exam- 
ple, and the greater, part of the journey was made in silence. Late on 
the second evening they reached the river. The spy was directed to 
the public house on the other side, and Douglas and Witt returned to 
Mr. Gordon's, where they found Arthur and Schwartz. 

As they were now in a land of' civilization and comfort, Douglas was 
not sorry to obtain, onee more, a good night's lodging, which his hos- 
pitable friend was. delighted to afford. But this rare enjoyment did 
not. make him forgetful of the necessity of watching the motions of 
his enemy. He accordingly despatched a scout to the house to which 
the Yankee had been directed, to make sure that he had gone on. 
1 At a late hour the man returned, and roused Douglas to inform him 
that the spy had indeed gone as far as he had intended, and that he 
had there fallen in with a party of a dozen dragoons, commanded by a 
subaltern, who were on a scout through the country. With this officer 
he had been seen to be engaged in private and 'earnest conversation, 
and orders had been issued to the men to look well to the' condition of 
their arms, and to be in readiness to move at daylight. 

It at once occurred to Douglas that a new scheme had entered the 
head of the vain and frivolous being who had thrust himself into an 
affair requiring qualities so different. It was probable that he wished 
to avail himself of the presence of this little party to endeavor to sur- 
prise his enemy, wh'om he had reason to believe to be still near the 
Ford.' The folly of risking the defeat of his favorite enterprise by 
joining in the attempt, and thus throwing off his mask, was not likely 
to occur to him. The question with Douglas was, whether by abiding 
the attack he should afford the bungling fool, whom he had been lead- 
ing in^o his own trap, a chance to escape from it by his own blunder. In 
this apprehension, however, he did not give that worthy due credit for 
his discretion. He had indeed considered Douglas as his proper prey; 
and though he had been unable to restrain his disposition to babble, he 
sorely repented his indiscretion when he found the other officer dis- 
posed to anticipate him. He had accordingly earnestly dissuaded him 
from attemptign anything; and, not prevailing in this, had deter- 
mined to go on alone, and leave the other to execute his project as he 


But though uncertain what might be the conduct of the spy, Dou- 
glas could not resist his inclination to throw himself in the way of the 
expected attack. It was necessary that he should examine' the ground 
carefully, and he had not time to wait until the scouting party should 
have left the neighborhood. Besides, he was anxious to inform him- 
self precisely of the force and position of the enemy, and the name of 
their new commander! For this purpose he was eager to make at least 
one prisoner. And, after all, perhaps not the least moving considera- 
tion was his desire to taste once more the stormy joy of battle. 

Upon the whole, he determined to turn the tables on his enemy, 
if possible ; and, instead of returning to bed, prepared immediately 
for action. All things were soon ready. The master of the house, his 
two sons, and three of the neighbors, who, hearing that he was there, 
had called to see him, added to his own party, madca force often men, 
with whieh he was not afraid to abide the attaok of thirteen. At 
the head of these he took the road, and by daylight had occupied the 
ground where he wished to meet the enemy. 

At the point of which we speak, the road, after passing for some 
miles over & broad and level ridge, at the distance of a quarter of a 
mile from the river, dives suddenly into a steep defile between two 
hills. The descent is rapid, and in less than a hundred yards, the 
hills come down abruptly on either hand, leaving between them barely 
space enough for the road, which is quite narrow. They are steep, 
rugged, with projecting rocks, and altogether impracticable to cavalry ; 
and are moreover covered with a heavy growth of timber and brush- 
wood. At the distance of about two hundred yards from the plain 
above, the road turns sharp to the right. It then pursues a course 
nearly direct, for a like distance ; and then, turning short to the left, 
the river, ford, and the opposite landing, are at once in full view. 

A point a little below the first mentioned bend was selected by Dou- 
glas 'for his position. He posted Witt and three others on oae side of 
the road, behind rocks and trees, while he, Arthur, and one more, dis- 
posed themselves, in like manner, on the other. Schwartz, with the rest, 
passed through the defile, with orders to hide themselves r^ear the 
bank, and let the enemy pass without interruption. A pole had been 
thrown across the road, some twenty yards in front of Doaglas and his 
party. The crossing of this, by the enemy, was to be the signal for 
firing. The officer was designated to be the mark of Witt. The right 
and left hand man of the leading file had each his appropriate execu- 
tioner appointed ; then the two next, and then two more, were in like 
manner foredoomed, so that no shot should be thrown away. While 
these arrangements were making, Arthur bethought him of Schwartz's 


lecture on tactics, and was at once sensible of the vast superiority of 
untaught courage and sagacity, on occasions like this, over the sort of 
discipline on which the martinet is so apt to pride himself. 

About sunrise the enemy appeared, consisting, as the scout had said, 
of a dozen men, under the command of a single officer. To the great 
relief of Douglas, the redoubtable Yankee Captain was not with them. 
As the hill was steep, they advanced in a walk, while the officer, who 
was in the rear, occasionally turned his horse's head to the hill, seem- 
ing to examine for some recess in which his party might draw aside, 
and form a sort of ambuscade; but there was no snadi spot. The 
ground was everywhere too steep for cavalry; and, disappointed, he 
put spurs to his horse, and pushed forward to resume his place at the 
head of the party. They were now near the fatal point; every rifle 
was in rest, and duly levelled at its mark, and in the moment that the 
leading file were crossing the pole, six saddles were empty, and six 
horses ran masterless. The aim of Witt at the officer, who was much 
more distaut, and moving rapidly, was less fatal. But his ball took ef- 
fect, as -was plainly shown by the sword arm, which, at the moment, 
fell powerless. The men went to the right about in a moment, and a 
shout, which the echoes of the steep gorge multiplied into a hundred 
voices, sent them down the hill at full speed. 

The officer, though wounded, was not quite so ready to take to his 
heels, and called to his men to halt. With all but one, he succeeded; 
but that one, wild with terror, dashed on. .In the meantime, Schwartz 
and his little party had planted themselves in the road, near the river, 
and their array was the first object that met the eye of the affrighted' 
soldier as he turned the angle of the road. J>ut panic is as apt to 
hurry a man into danger as away from it, and the sight of this new 
enemy only urged th6 poor wretch to a more desperate effort to escape, 
by breaking by them. In vain did the men throw up their arms, and 
call to him to stop. He rushed on, right upon Schwartz, who stood in 
the middle of the road, and who, as a dernier resort, stopped his career 
with a bullet. The report of his rifle, and a glimpse of Douglas's men 
advancing along the side of the hill to get wjthin shot, decided the of- 
ficer that it was time to look to his safety. Turning the angle of the 
road, he saw the fate of his fallen soldier, and the cause ot it. Imme- 
diately calling on his men to follow, he dashed on with an impetuosity 
which showed a determination to force a passage or perish. 

The result was inevitable. Schwartz was in the act of loading his 
rifle. The other three levelled theirs. They had not.been trained in 
Schwartz's school of tactics, and all three, attracted by the epaulette 
and plume and sash of the officer, fired at him. He fell dead, and the 


rest, perceiving their advantage, rushed on the mountaineers, who, of 
necessity, sprang aside, and let them pass. One of them was not so 
nimble but that, as he clambered up the rocky face of the hill, a sweep- 
ing back -handed stroke inflicted a deep gash in the back part of his 
thigh. This was the only injury received by the party of Douglas in 
the affair, and dearly did it cost the man who gave it. Schwartz 
marked him, and coolly went on loading his rifle. By the time he had 
effected this, the soldier was half way across the river, and the next 
moment tumbled from his horse, and went floating down the stream. 
The other five gained the shore before another rifle could be loaded, 
and, doubling a rocky point around which the road turned, disappeared. 



This victory., though! -on a . small scale, was complete in itself. It 
was a favorable omen, too, and might serve as a sort of rehearsal of 
the more important battle to be fought on the same ground. In one 
thing only Douglas had been disappointed, by the eagerness of 
Schwartz's men. He had made no prisoners, and the fallen enemy 
were all either dead, or not in condition to bo harassed by such ques- 
tions as he wished to ask. They were necessarily committed to the 
care of such of the party as Jived in the neighborhood ; and their 
horses and arms being secured, were placed in the same hands for safe 

The feelings of Arthur, as he looked on this fearful scene of slsmgh- 
ter, were such as might be expected to possess the mind of a youth, 
who, as yet, had never seen the blood of man shed in strife. But 
these are nothing to the purpose of my tale. It is enough to say, that 
the contemplation of it wrought the usual change in his character. He 
now felt that to kill or be killed was Ifhe ordes of the day ; and, though 
his next sleep was haunted by visions of the ghastly objects that lay 
before him, he awoke from it with a mind prepared for the stern duties 
of war. 

Kequesting the company and advice of his host, Douglas now pro- 
ceeded to examine the ground. He found the river hills every where in- 
tersected, on both sides of the river, by ravines such as that I have de- 
scribed. The ford was shallow, but just above was deep water, which, on 
the north side, came down quite near to the gravel bar, which served as » 
dam.\ Here a steep . and high rock bounded the river, and along the 
base of it,. the water eddied in a deep pool, and then swept away in a 
strong, but shallow current. At a short'distance below was the mouth 
of -a ravine, overgrown with lofty trees, and clustering with brushwood, 
%t a distance of fifty yards from the landing-place. The road, issuing 
from the river at the foot of the rock, holds a straight course for twen- 
ty yards, or thereabouts, and then turning short to the left, is no more 
in sight of the river. From thence, a short, but steep ascent through 
a deep cleft in the hills, brings the traveller to the top, where he turns 



again to the right, and resumes the direction towards Lynchburg. 
After a thorough examination of the whole, the party returned to 
breakfast at the house of Mr. Gordon. °: 

Douglas rode slowly and thoughtfully.^ At length he said apart to 
Schwartz : 

" Your plot is admirable ; but I am afraid it* will fail." 

" What chance of that ?" asked Schwartz. " They will be ashamed 
to bring more than a thousand men against you, even if they had 
them. We can raise as many as they can, and we shall be on the 
ground, and have the same advantage we had just now." 

" But suppose they come and take possession first," said Douglas. 

" Oh ! no danger of that. They'll be in no hurry to leave their 
snug quarters any sooner than they can help; and we can be here a 
day or two before the time." . 

" It may be so," said Douglas, " but I don't think Col. Mason takes 
me for an absolute fool; and if he does, he has reason to know that I 
have-sharp-witted men about me. But any man's wits may fail him 
sometimes. For example-, it has never occurred to either of: us, that 
Mason will certainly not believe* that , we have "been fooled by such a 
fellow as. this Yankee of yours. Will he not, therefore, at once 
suspect tfre truth, and conclude that we are trying to catch him in his 
own trap ?" 

" I God !" said Schwartz, " that is true. I had not thought of that. 
The fellow is too silly to be made bait of, sure enough. But then, you 
see, Captain, we can fix them any how. , Mr. Gordon here can raise 
men enough, in three days, to keep then from crossing the river, until 
we are ready for them, and then, you know, we can push across a, part 
of our men, and toll them over. If once we get them into a right 
sharp fight, they'll followus across the river fast enough." 

"I have tie doubt of their coming to look for us," said Douglas, 
"and no doubt of a fight; but we must be prepared to meet more men 
than we have bargained for. Depend upon it, they will bring every 
man they can raise. Why, would you believe it, the fellow talked to 
me about living at home on codfish, and potatoes, and cider, and pies, 
and all sorts of sass ? Such a simpleton could not impose on a child. 
Col. Mason has talents worthy of a better cause, and he will see through 
the whole affair. I suppose he is superseded ; but he is ah honorablf 
man, and will frankly give the benefit of his suspicions to his superior, 
who can hardly be such a fool as to disregard his suggestions. We 
must bestir ourselves, therefore, or give up the game and escape from 
our own plot. 


"Gentlemen," continued Douglas, speaking aloud, and in a sustained 
land decisive tone, " this is our place, of rendezvous; the time mid-day 
on the third of November. Every man must come prepared for action, 
and such as mean to accompany me to the lower country, must bring 
with them all their necessaries. Mr. Gordon, I must depend on you 
to hold this pass, and keep the enemy from crossing the river. I shall 
send a force to' support you, if necessary. You, Schwartz, know what 
to do better than I can tell you. • You, Witt, will return -with me, and 
we will talk, as we ride, of what is to be done. Mr. Gordon, we could 
travel without food, but pur horses cannot. We must trouble you for 
something for all, and then we part ,until the day of rendezvous. Until 
that time, ' Vigilance and, Activity' is the word — but then ,' Freedom, 
Independence, and Glory.' " 

As Douglas said this they arrived at Mr, Gordon's door. The.ready 
meal was hastily swallowed, the horses fed, and they departed for the 
■camp. On the way Schwartz, turning to the left, kept a,southward 
■course through the district, along the foot-of the mountains, to rouse 
the inhabitants in that quarter, and to collect a party to support Mr. 
Gordon. The rest returned to the camp, from whence runners were 
•despatched throughout all the adjacent country, and even beyond the 
mountain to.the head-waters of the Hohton. Reaving them thus em- 
ployed, let us repair to the head-quarters of the enemy. " 

In the handsome parlor of a handsome house, in the suburbs of 
Lynchburg, we find two officers seated at a game of piquet. The hour 
is nine at night. The room is richly furnished, A bright fire burns 
on the hearth, and the blaze of , sconce and astral lamps, sheds its 
soft, luxurious, moonlight, beams into every corner.. Wine, cordials, 
fruits, and cigars are placed on a table, and every, thing betokens com- 
fort and luxury, ease and indolence. The dress of 'these ; oflicers cor- 
responds with .the scene. Both glitter with gold and flutter in lace, 
and their richly mounted swords, and highly finished pistols, which lie 
on the table;, show that the owners abound in, the means of display and 
«elf-indulgence. <. 

^Such was indeed the fact. The pay of the army, gradually in- 
creased bylaw during thirty years, had grown to a noble revenue. The 
emoluments, as.they are called, under a system of fraud and connivance, 
had advanced (without law) yet more rapidly ; so that to be a Colonel 
in the army of the United States was to be a rich man. Such was 
the rank of both these officers. It was true that the treasury had 
already begun to feel the drain of the vast sums accumulated under an 
iniquitous tariff, and now employed to fortify the tyranny that had en- 
forced that pernicious system. The loss of the southern trade gave 

178 Tflff M&TISAff LEADEK. 

reason' to fear that the supply now on hand,, if once exhausted, wcmfal , 
not be .speedily renewed. But the rulers felt but the more sensibly* 
that the energetic employment both of force and corruption was neces-v 
sary to retain the little that remained, by holding Virginia in subject 
tion. With this view, the same. system of wasteful- expenditure, com- 
menced twenty years before, was kept up; and all who served the 
crown with becoming zeal were encouraged to hold open their mouths 
that they might be filled, , . 

In another part of the rqpm a company of subalterns fluttered arounqf 
a bevy, of fair damsels. To- these young ladies the mistress of this 
mansion had of late become an object of much increased regard. Mq» 
friend was so deaf, no society so desirable, nor house so pleasant to 
visit at as hers. Many an extra visit did she receive, since the abound- 
ing loyalty of her husband had invited the commandant of the post to 
make it his head-quarters. Many a wistful glance had been cast during 
the evening, from the assiduous subalterns, toward the handsome and 
unheeding wearer of two epaulettes, to whose authority all who ap-*: 
preached him were bound to bow. ..„ But it was all in vain. Sufficient 
to himself, he valued not the admiring eyes which were bent upon 
him ; or if they occupied any thing of his attention, it was to be made 
the subject of invidious comparison with the ladies of* the highest 
fashion in the northern cities, whose lavish attentions had rendered 
him totally heedless of the vulgar admiration of a parcel of half-bred 
Virginia girls. . 

These remarks, however, apply to only one of the officers in ques- 
tion. The other manifested no such insensibility, though his attentions 
to the fair were only marked by a staid courtesy, hardly more flattering 
than the perfect indifference of his companion.. Still he paid such 
attention as it becomes a gentleman to pay to every thing that wears 
the exterior of a lady. But the day when he was himself an object 
of court to them was past. Indeed, the ladies had already begun to 
despair of thawing the coldness of his temperament, when, being su- 
perseded by a younger and handsomer commander, he' was laid on the 
shelf and condemned as quite passe. 

But it is high time to make the reader acquainted with the two mili- 
tary gentlemen, to whose presence he has been introduced. 

The reader, without doubt, already understands that, of the two offi- 
cers before us, the elder in years, though theyounger in commission, is 
Col. Mason, late commandant of the post. His companion is Col. 
Owen Trevor, whose impatience for distinction has been indulged by 
sending him to Lynchburg with his regiment. Here, taking rank of 
Mason, he has been in fact placed in command of a brigade, with an 


/Understanding that time and opportunity will be afforded him to show 
himself qualified for the rank, by discharging the functions of a briga- 
dier. This ( post has been assigned him because in this direction is the 
only enemy actually in arms. 

Although the force .under the command of Douglas had been origi- 
nally but a handful, Mason had seen that it possessed, in a marvellous 
degree, the faculty of occasional expansion. His intelligence had 
taught him to expect that it Would ere long be greatly increased, if not 
crushed by a vigorous movement on his part. Hence he was desirous 
of acting on the offensive, especially as he had no doubt, from the 
past, that Lynchburg was the object of Douglas. But he had seen, 
enough of the character arid resources of his enemy to know that a 
small force would be unavailing, and had 'therefore earnestly desired to 
be reinforced. In answer to this request he had received, not the 
moderate aid that he had- desired, but an order to surrender his com- 
mand'to Col. Trevor, whose well-appointed regiment was ordered to«the 
post. ' ' ; ■ [ 

- Col. Mason was a man of honqr and talent. He was one of the 
many subjects of that strong delusion which had so extensively pre- 
vailed; and, under the influence of" which, Virginia, for thirty years, 
1 had been sacrificing the substance of liberty and prosperity to the 
forms of a constitution devised to secure, but perverted to destroy 
them. He belonged, moreover, to that unfortunate class of partisans 
whom it is safe to neglect. Acting on principles, however erroneous, 
it was clearly seen that these alone w v ere sufficient to bind him to the 
service to which he had devoted himself. It was at the same time 
little doubted that a change of opinions would be fallowed by a renun- 
ciation of all the advantages of his situation, whatever they might be. 
To waste on such a man the means of corrupting the corruptible, and 
securing the faithless, would indeed have been " ridiculous excess." 
He had won his way to his present rank by the strict performance of 
every duty of the subordinate offices, through which he had risen by 
regular gradation. In the shuffling and cutting of the military pack, 
he had seen junior officers placed above him by that sort of .legerde- 
main which had so long before procured his master the name of the 
magician. He had not indeed acquiesced tamely in this, but means 
Bad been always found so soothe him, and he had been retained in the 
service by dextrous appeals to that magnanimity which they who knew 
riot how. to appreciate, yet knew well how to play upon. 

But he had not yet forgotten . how, ten years before, some pretext 
had been found for reversing the relative rank of himself and Col. 
Trevor, when both were very young and both subalterns. But on that 


occasion, as usual, some complimentary though temporary arrangement 
had been devised to reconcile him to that which gave the rank of 
Captain to one, whom he, still a Lieutenant, had once commanded. 
Having repressed his dissatisfaction at that time, he now felt bound to 
acquiesce in the circumstances which placed his former subordinate 
immediately in authority over him. If this occurrence made him 
repent his former tameness, now when it was tqolate > to remonstrate, 
he did not say so, but addressed himself with grave precision to the 
fulfilment of all his commander's, orders. 



Fortiina nimium quern fovet, stultum facil 

Colonel Trevor was tho spoiled child of fortune and patronage. 
He was, old enough to , remember his father's rise in life. Hence, in 
estimating his consequence in society, he had formed, a habit of com- 
paring him with the class from which he sprung, and not with that 
more intellectual order of men, in which he had at last, found his 
prpper place, and where he had long remained stationary in well ascer- 
tained equality. This circumstance alone made an important difference 
between him and his younger brothers. The sort of retrospect with 
which he was most familiar teaches any thing, but humility, however it 
may impress that lesson on the mind, that has already learned it. 

In the commencement of Col. Trevor's military career, the approba- 
tion of his father had been of more consequence to the usurper than 
now, when his throne stood strong on its foundations. The character 
of that worthy gentleman, too, had been less understood. The Presi- 
dent had not been . aware how absolutely the convictions of his own 
mind and high setise of duty supplied the place of those douceurs, the 
frequent repetition and continued expectation of which is necessary to 
bind the faith of the unprincipled. Before this discovery was made, 
Col. -Trevor had been already advanced to a rank, and invested with an 
adventitious consequence, which made it important to cultivate him on 
his own account. His early training had taught him the grand maxim 
of the court — " Nothing ask, nothing have." He had discovered that 
any display of fixed principle, however favorable to the usurper's plans, 
was no passport to advancement ; that rewards were only for the mer- 
cenary, and that they were always dispensed with a freedom duly pro- 
portioned to the eagerness with which they were sought. The caustic 
wit of John Randolph had unintentionally and almost with his last 
breath supplied the faction with a countersign not to be mistaken. If 
any man talked about his principles, (as all men do and must at times,) 
there was always at hand some dextrous pimp, whose business it was to 
ascertain their number, If they were found to be either more or less 
than seven, the discovery was fatal to his hopes of advancement. 

The character of Douglas Trevor had been formed under circum- 
stances directly the reverse of those which had operated on his elder 


brother. He only remembered his father in the same circles and the 
same place in society in which his latter days had been spent. No 
change of condition had led the yolith to turn his back oh the companions 
of his boyhood; no rapid promotion had filled him with a fond conceit 
of his own consequence, or an overweening eagerness for rank arid 
emolument; and his unbought fidelity had shown that he was of the 
number of those on whom rewards would be wasted. Thus it happened, 
(as it so often does,) that two young men, sons of the same parents, 
educated in the same school, and trained to the same profession, were 
just the reverse of each other, in particulars wherein nature had prob- 
ably made 'little difference between them.' So it was/that while the 
one was indifferent to duty, frivolous, self-indulgent, and mercenary, 
the other was assiduous, discreet, temperate, and disinterested. 

It may be inferred from what I have said, that the rank of Col. 
Trevor was already above his merit. The consequence was, that hav- 
ing reached his present elevation by the force of causes not within him- 
self, his own consciousness afforded no standard for his farther preten- 
sions. He could see no reason why he should not be a. field-marshal 
as well as a colonel. And so it was;, for he had' no just claims to either 
rank on the score of service or qualification. A stone thrown up, were 
it endued with consciousness and thought, could see no reason, as long 
as it was ascending, why it might not fly to the moon., If my experi- 
ence in life has taught me any thing, it is, that a man who' sets no 
bounds to his aspirations, unless his daily intercourse with the world 
affords daily proofs of an intrinsic superiority over all he meets, is al- 
ready raised above his merit. 

The gentlemen, of whom I have been speaking, were busily engaged 
in their game, when the Orderly in waiting entered and announced an 
officer who wished to report himself to'the commandant of the post. 

" Let him call in the morning, and be damned to him," said Colonel 
Trevor. " Is this an hour to disturb a gentleman V 

The Orderly saluted and withdrew, but presently returned to say that 
the officer had particular business with Colonel Mason, and wished to 
see him immediately. Mason accordingly left the room, and was gone 
but a few minutes, when he too came back. 

" This officer, sir," said he, "asked to see me, supposing me still in 
command here. His intelligence is for you; and, from what I heard 
before I discovered his mistake; it may be important that you should 
receive it to-night." 

"Well," said Trevor, in a tone at once lazy and peevish, "I suppose 
I must see him. But it is damned hard that I cannot have a moment's 
leisure. Let him come in." 


He was summoned accordingly, and proved to be no other than our 
acquaintance, the Yankee spy, whom I now introduce to the reader, as 
lie announced himself. He is Captain Amos Cottle, of the 20tB regi- 
ment of infantry, in the army of the United States. His name, I 
presume, (like that of the fourteen James Thomsons, in Don Juan,) had 
been bestowed in honor of the illustrious, bard immortalized by Lord 
Byron. He was invited to. take , a glass of wine, and, having seated 
himself, requested a private , conference with the commanding officer. 
This was a signal for the dispersion of the ladies, and their assiduous 
attendants, who adjourned to another room. Mason was about to fol- 
low, but the Colonel carelessly requested him to remain. 

Captain Cottle was then invited to open his budget, which he did by 
telling what the reader already knows. Not a sentence did he utter, 
in which some indication of folly, vanity,' or indiscretion did not escape 
him. .All this, however, passed unmarked of Col. Trevor, whose eyes 
sparkled at the welcome intelligence. Nothing could be more apropos 
to his; wishes, or. to the plan of the President. "Veni, vidi, vici." 
The exploit .of Caesar was the only parallel to that which he proposed 
to achieve. Occasionally he looked to Mason for sympathy and con- 
currence with his unexpressed thoughts. As often he withdrew his 
«ye, -chilled and perplexed by the cold, steady, thoughtful look of his 
companion. What could this mean ? Could Mason be insensible to 
the advantage of the plot, or indifferent to its issue '( Could envy so' 
,far prevail with a man heretofore distinguished fay his disinterested 
zeal for the service, as to damp his ardor in an enterprise of so much 
promise?. He was at first indignant at this idea, but a little refection 
made him judge his brother-officer with more candor. 

"Poor Mason," said he to himself, " I don't wonder that he is a 
little mortified at my good fortune. It is something hard that he should 
have held this post so long,: without a chance to do any thing, and that 
I, should have come just in time to rob him of this. But then, damn 
it' ! it is his own fault. What did he want with a reinforcement against 
a parcel of ragged militia ? It was right to supersede an officer who 
would ask more than one regiment to meet any number of such raga- 
muffins that could come against him, Besides, he ought to have bro- 
ken u$> their den long ago. If Douglas escapes me this time, it shall 
not be long before I smoke him out of his hole, or there is no virtue in 
gun-powder." t 

Having thus reasoned himself into a state of exquisite self-compla- 
cency, he heard the story of Captain Cottle to the end, and then asked 
ihe opinion of Mason. 


" I cannot say/' replied that gentleman, "that lam prepared to give 
an opinion." 

v " Fhope," said Trevor, "that you don't mean to deny me the benefit 
of your thoughts." ■■■.•" 

"So far from it, that I make it a point of conscience- net to speak 
without having first thought. When I have done so, I -will tell you 
■what I think". To speak now would be but to give you the crude Sug- 
gestions of unreflecting and impertinent presumption." 

" I cannot understand," said Trevor, " how you can require time' to 
think in so plain a case." 

"I might say, in reply," , answered Mason, "that as ; the case is so 
clear to you, you can. hardly need, my advice. Indeed, I understand 
your request of it but as a compliment to which I am not insensible, 
and which I shall not decline.' When I am prepared to speak, there- 
fore, I shall speak as plainly as if the case were as full of difficulty t© 
you as it is to me." Y'-v 

Having said this, Mason drew Cottle into conversation ; enquired the 
particulars of his visit to the mountain ; encouraged him to recite his 
conversations with Douglas; and, filling him full of- Vanity and conceit 
by his deferential deportment, made the light shine through him, so as 
to expose his folly to the most careless observer. At length he was 
dismissed for the night, and Mason, addressing Trevor, said :" I am 
now ready to give you my thoughts. I could not do so in Captain Cot- 
tle's presence; and, indeed, my mind was not clear until I had some 
more conversation with him. I am now satisfied." 

"Let's hear, then, the result of your cogitations," asked Trevor, with 
something of a sneer. ■ '• 

Mason colored slightly, but said, in a calm tone : "I have had some 
experience of this Captain Douglas^ and am morally sure he has- net been 
deceived by this man, as he supposes." ; 

" What!" exclaimed Trevor. ' " Do you forget that Captaia Cottle is 
an officer whose rank is a pledge for his honor, and who would forfeit 
his commission and his life by bringing false intelligence to his com- 
mander ?" - f ; 

" I don't doubt his truth," said Mason, " but his sagacity I do'doubt- 
The man is palpably a Yankee — " 

" And the cunning of the Yankee is proverbial," interrupted Trevoir, 

" It is, indeed," replied Mason ; "but as he. is not only a Yankee, 
but obviously»so, he could not have made Douglas believe that he was 
an influential inhabitant of Bedford, a native ;of the ; county, and a 
zealous stickler for the sovereignty of Virginia." 

" You give your Captain Douglas credit for a great deal of sagacity." 


"And not without reason," said Mason. "His plans, and his man- 
ner of conducting them, all show it. His intelligence appears to be 
always correct and ; ready, and his devices for the concealment of his 
own schemes are commonly impenetrable. It is clear, from many cir- 
cumstances, that he has agents who pass through the country unsus- 
pected ; and I should not be surprised if Cottle had fallen in with one 
of them. I have no doubt that Dougla's will be found at Jones's Ford 
on the day appointed ; but my life, upon it, instead of coming there to 
be -surprised) he proposes, to come there to surprise you." 
" Surprise ME !" said Trevor, scornfully. 

"I have no apprehension that he. will surprise you," said Mason, 
*' because I am sure you will take all proper precaution. I merely 
mean to say that he will attempt it." 

"And be punished for his presumption," said Trevor. "As. to pre- 
caution, I must use it, to be sure, superflous as it may be against a set 
of inexperienced militia." 

" Of one sort of . experience,""said Mason, " and that not the least 
important,- they have had more than we. They have tasted danger 
aaore than once; and their skill in the use o.f the rifle is such as men 
who live with the weapon in their hands, and they alone, can be expect- 
ed to acquire." 

" I hope to bring- in some 01 tnem, as prisoners," saict xrevor, "and 
then we shall see how that is. I will pit a dozen of our sharp-shooters 
against a dozen, of them, my horse to yours." 

" I am not in the hahitof betting," replied Mason, smiling quietly ; 
"but, in this case, I, dare say I may do it innocently, as the offence will 
hardly reach beyond intention; so, I take your bet." 
. " How do you mean ?" asked Trevor, sharply. 
.-... " I mean," said Mason, '< that I am not very sure that you will take 
a'dozeri of them." 

." Not. sure !" exclaimed Trevor ; "how can they escape me?" 
" I don't profess to understand their craft," said. Mason j "but they 
. are hard to catch. In short, Colonel Trevor, my instructions require 
me to afford' you all. the information I have acquired here. It is there- 
fore my duty, even without question from you, to assure you that you 
are in the midst of a disaffected country, and that you are going against 
an enemy not to be despised, and a^mong a peophr universally hostile. 
Knowing these things, and invited by you to advise what is to be done 
in this affair, my advice is to march your whole disposable force to the 
appointed place, using every precaution to guard against surprise. It 
might be as well to anticipate Douglas, so far at least as to understand 
the ground, and to occupy it before the day." 


" And bo he takes warning, and escapes me." 

" By no means. Cottle's scheme will have been made available so 
far as to draw him down from the mountains. You neither need nor 
desire any other advantage. But I see that I cannot easily make my- 
self understood, because our minds are occupied with different things. 
You are thiriking about the trap set for Douglas, and I am thinking 
about the snare he has laid for you. Depend upon it. Colonel Trevor, 
that the old.story of catching a Tartar, may be illustrated by catching 
Douglas among the river hills. He may be. caught; and yet, neither 
come away nor let you come. Observe," continued Mason, " when I 
inquired of this Captain Cottle about the nature of the ground at the 
Ford, behold, he had not taken notice of it! but, on cross-examination, 
by finding what he did not see, I am satisfied that there is no low 
ground, nor cleared land at the place ; that the hills come sheer down 
to the river, and, by almost necessary consequence, that the road leads 
through a deep defile. The choice of such a place confirms my suspi- 
cion of Douglas's plan, and affords the means to counterwork it. If we 
occupy the strong points of the ground, and he comes with only such a 
body of men as Cottle expects, we take him without effusion of blood. 
If he comes in force, our position will give us all the advantage he 
seeks ; and, trust me, in that case we shall have need of them." 

" Need a? advantages against irregulars !" drawled Trevor, sneeringly, 
and emphasizing every word. 

" Our discipline and experience are of little consequence," said Ma- 
son, " if we do not use them. One use of them is to know how to take 

" Be it so," said Trevor ; "I shall seek none. A fair field and a 
clear sky are all I ask ; and I shall be careful to take no measure which 
may alarm this mountain wolf, and drive him back to his den before I 
can come up with him." ;■ 

These words were hardly spoken when the Orderly announced that 
a sergeant of dragoons had just returned from a scouting party with 
important intelligence, and had come to make his report to the Colonel. 
What this was the reader will infer, when told that he was the non- 
commissioned officer on whom had devolved the command of the four 
men who had escaped with him from Jones's Ford, His - information 
confirmed Mason's suspicions, and might have served as a damper to 
the flattering anticipations of a man less sanguine than Colonel Trevor. 
Its only effect on him was to sharpen his eagerness for the expected ren- 
contre. Yet the Sergeant, when questioned, frankly admitted that his 
party had not been out-numbered. But it was clear that their design 
had been, by some means, disclosed to Douglas; and his advantage had 


been the result of judicious dispositions, and the skill of his men in 
the use of that most terrible of all weapons. 

But all this abated nothing of Colonel Trevor's contempt for a foe 
unskilled in the manual exercise, ignorant of the grand manoeuvres, 
and dressed in buckskin. Every attempt on- the part of Col. Mason to 
bring him to listen to reason proved fruitless. Indeed the conversation 
occasionally took such a turn as to create a doubt in the mind of that 
gentleman, whether to press his advice any fai'ther might not make !t 
difficult to reconcile with his„own self-respect the deference which he 
knew to be due to his commander. He therefore determined to receive 
and execute in silence all orders which might be given, and leave the 
event to Providence. 



More dreadful far their ire 
Than theirs, who, scorning danger's name, 
In eager mood to battle came; 
Their valor, like light straw on flame, 

A fierce, but fading fire ! 

Freed at length from his troublesome adviser, Gol. Trevor was 
left to the uninterrupted enjoyment of his anticipated triumph. He 
seemed to tread on air, and, with a flashing eye, and spread nostrils^ to 
look forward to the glories, and snuff up the carnage of the expected 
fight. Such was his impatience for the adventure, that, in the .eager-; 
ness of anticipation, he gave no thought to the necessary preparations. 
It was enough to issue the customary order for the troops to be in readi- 
ness for the march, with a supply of cartridges and rations suitable to 
the expedition. 

The third day of November at length arrived; and the' troops took 
up the line of march. As they issued in glittering rank from the bar- 
racks above the town, the Colonel, proudly mounted on his stately 
charger, posted himself in the gateway of the house, where he had 
taken up his quarters, and received their passing salute. The portico 
of the house was crowded with female figures ;■ tho windows were clus- 
tered with fair faces; the noble oak-trees in the yard were hung with, 
garlands, in token of the loyalty of the household, and of anticipated 
triumph in his assured victory. But the Colonel saw nothing of this. 
His eye saw not the waving of handkerchiefs, his ear heard not the 
cheering, farewells issuing in tones ef music from rosy lips.. v He heard 
only the spirit-stirring drum and clanging bugle ; he saw nothing but 
the stately steppings of his well-trained troops as they marched by; 
and then, his eye, following them, dwelt with delight upon their pic- 
turesque appearance as they wound along the slope of the hill, and 
crossed Blackwater-bridge. Beyond this, imagination presented ob- 
jects of yet greater interest — the, battle-field, the tumult of the strife, 
the rout, the pursuit, the carnage, the vanquished leader led in chains 
to the foot of the throne, the gracious smile of approving majesty, and 
the rich rewards of successful valor. These, things he saw; but saw 
not the gaunt figure of his host, who stood near, his strong features 


and manly person illy sorting with the abject part he condemned him- 
self to act. He sought in vain to catch the eye of the excited com- 
mander, desirous, ,in his parting words, to convey some expression of 
loyalty and zeal. Colonel Trevor marked him not, and, as the rear of 
the column was about to pass, put spurs to his horse, and galloped to 
the front. ' 

At thig point of my story, I must crave the indulgence of the 
reader, while I introduce my humble self to his notice. A native of 
.South Carolina, and the heir of a goodly inheritance, which, during a 
long minority, had been at nurse in the hands of an honest and pru- 
dent guardian, I was just of age, the master of a handsome income, 
and of a large sum of money 'in hand. Having a taste for military 
life, my guardian had procured me a situation in the military academy, 
which had been established by the State, as a counterpoise to that in- 
stitution at which the Federal Government had taught so many of our 
southern youths to whet {heir swords against the only sovereignty to 
which they owed allegiance. My proficiency had been seen, and gave 
entire satisfaction to my teachers. I bad imbibed political opin- 
ions which made me a zealous advocate for the rights of the 
States, and a strenuous asserter of the unalienable independence of 
South Carolina. When, in compliance with the request of Mr. B — , 
enquiry had been made for a young man qualified and disposed to aid 
young Trevor in his enterprise, I had been selected for that purpose. 
I was invited to Columbia, made acquainted with the plans of the in- 
surgents in Virginia, and "provided with letters to my future com- 
mander. Journeying to Virginia by the route that he had pursued, 
on the evening of the first day of November I entered the valley de- 
scribed in the first chapter. I soon encountered a crowd of men, who 
filled the road and the yard of a house contiguous to it. There were 
! *'wagons,(horses, and arms; and the men, moving quietly but busily, 
seemed all earnestly engaged in some important preparation. 

I was presently stopped, courteously though peremptorily ; and hav- 
ing expressed a wish to see Captain Douglas, was conducted to the 
house. There, pen in hand, and busily engaged in writing, sat a young 
man of small stature and slight figure. Thoughquite handsome, there 
was nothing remarkable in his features, but a bright gray eye, of calm, 
thoughtful and*se,arching expression, strongly contrasted with the dark 
brown, curling hair that clustered over his brow. 

Being accosted by my conductor, he "raised his head— when I stepped 
forward, and handed him my letters. He glanced hastily to the signa- 
ture of the first he opened, then read it leisurely, and looking at me 
with a beaming countenance, extended his hand. " You are welcome, 


sir," said he, "welcome. to danger's hour. In the morning we march' 
on an expedition which may decide the fate of the campaign. My 
engagements must excuse my seeming neglect of you this evening- 
But let me make you known to your future comrades." 

Then turning to a fair haired youth, already known to the reader as 
Arthur Trevor, he introduced .him as his mother's son. I was then 
made acquainted with Schwartz and Witt, .and several others. Among 
the number were a few young men from the lower counties, of good 
families and education, who, in this crisis, had left their homes to en- 
gage in this expedition. These, like their leader, had all learned to 
accommodate themselves to the fashions of that wild country, and ita 
wjlder climate, and especially to their own wild life. Each individual 
was dressed, from top to toe, in leather, no otherwise differing from the 
dress of the rudest mountaineer, than in neatness, and a certain easy 
grace, and air of fashion, which no dress can entirely conceal. In any 
dress, in any company, under any circumstances, Douglas .Trevor would 
have been recognized as a gentleman. 

I hardly remember how I fared, or how I passed the night. As a 
stranger, I presume somewhat better than most others; but I took 
pains to show that I was content to eat what I ceuld get, and to lodge 
as I might. 

At daylight we were on the road. But little attention was paid to 
order. No enemy was near, and nobody was inclined to desert. There 
was therefore no necessity for harassing men and horses, by forcing 
them to keep in ranks. Each man rode where, and with whom he 
pleased, except that a few were directed to keep near the wagons, hot 
so much to guard as to assist in case of need It is impossible to con- 
ceive a military array with less of the "pomp and. circumstance of 
war." The horses were, for the most part, substantial, and in substart-? 
tial order. Their equipments were of the rudest sort. Plough-bridle^ 
and pack-saddles we're most common. The only arms were the rifle, 
knife, and tomahawk,, with their appropriate accompaniments of pow- 
der-horn, charger, and pouch. Douglas, indeed, had a. sword, and the 
few sabres taken from the dragoons had been distributed among the 
principal men. But they were all too wise to encumber theif persons 
with these weapons, which might have been troublesome in their mode 
of warfare. x\ strong loop of thick leather, stitched to the skirt of 
the saddle, in - front of the left knee, received the sword, the hilt of 
which stood up above the pummel.- Two or three of the saddles were 
of the Spanish fashion, the horn of which served to support any trifle 
the rider might wish to hang on it.- Douglas, in particular, carried, 



in this way, a leather case, containing his writing niaterials, and serv- 
ing as a tablet for writing on horseback. / 

But rude as these equipments were, yet to one acquainted with the 
object of the expedition, there was an appearance, of efficiency in the 
whole which gave the corps a truly formidablo aspect. The perfect 
order of the , arms, the strong, though rude dress af the men, their 
sinewy frames, their sun-burnt faces ; and, above all, the serious and 
resolved expression of countenance which generally prevailed, were 
tokens which none but a, martinet would overlook. 

As yet no duty had been assigned to me, so that I was perfectly 
disengaged. It was not until we had rode 1 sevejal miles, that Douglas 
found leisure to converse with me. . He then joined me, accompanied 
by Schwartz, to' whom, in my presence, . he explained my situation. 
Schwartz heard him with thoughtful attention, ;and then said— "It is 
all mighty .well, sir, if Mr: Sidney will only just take, it right. You 
see, sir," continued he, addressing me, "there an't no officers among 
us, and we only just call the Captain so for short. If he was a Cap- 
tain or a Ginetal it would not make much odds, because these fellows 
just go for ifhat is right and hard fighting; and him they believe in, 
him they mind. But as to who is first and who is second, that's neither 
here nor there. I have not a doubt that you are the sort of a man 
we want; but all that we can do, is to give you a fair chance to let the 
men see it. The Captain can be asking your advice, now and then, 
and I and Witt will do the same, and when they see that, they will 
begin to find out what you are. And then, you see, sir, when once we 
get to fighting, a man is never in such a flurry himself, but what he 
can see who knows what he is about, and, who does not. So, by the 
time we have had. a skrimmage or two, the men will know all about 
you.;, and whenever the' Captain is out of the way, they will <all belook- 
.ing to you to know what to do"; just in the way of giving jour 
opinion, mind . ; but, after a while, it will get to be orders. And then, 
if any thing happens to the Captain, and Witt and I don't see cause 
to change our mind, why, we only just have to follow you, and the 
men they follow us, and all will go straight. So you must just make 
yourself easy and keep quiet. We'll tell you when to speak, and 
after a while you'll find yourself second in command before you know 
it." / . ..." , :>i ., . 

I had no difficulty in acknowledging the reasonableness of these 
ideas, though it seemed a ne\f thing to find a man possessing the afflu- 
ence and authority of Schwartz, devising means to transfer them to 
another. But he knew, and the event showed that he was right, that 
there were some duties-of a commander f or which he was not fit ; and 


that there were other things to which a chief could not devote himself, 
for which he was 'better qualified than any other. 

On the third of November we reached the rendezvous, at the house 
of Mr. Gordon. On the way we had received frequent accessions of 
strength, and here we were joined by a yet larger reinforcement. Our 
whole number could not have been much, if at all, short of a thou- 
sand men. 

Meantime scouts came in, from whom we learned that the same day 
had been fixed for the march of the troops from Lynchburg. It fol- 
lowed that we had abundance of time for our preparations. It so hap- 
pened, that they had not learned the name of the new commander ; 
hut it was understood that a reinforcement had arrived, and that nearly 
the whole disposable force was on the march. This included a troop 
■of dragoons and a company of artillery, with two pieces of cannon, in 
■addition to a full regiment ctf infantry ,\,and one battalion of another. 

Having ascertained his force, and fixed on those on whom he could 
rely to understand and execute his plans, Douglas proceeded to make a 
temporary organization, suited to the occasion. The men were divided 
into corps, to each of which a post J was provisionally assigned, to be 
occupied as soon« as the approach of the enemy should be announced. 
Across the road, near the head of the defile, and just above the first 
angle next the top of the ascent, was constructed a barricade of logs, 
similar to those already described. This reached, on each side, to the 
foot of the hills, at steep, rocky, and impracticable points. It was 
long enough for twenty men to mart its twenty loop-holes, and as it 
reached above their heads, they were quite concealed. An hundred 
men were allotted to this post, who were rang'ed five deep behind the 
barricade, and instructed to fire in turn, each man falling back to the 
rear to. reload as soon as he- had discharged his piece. ' ' * 

Others were distributed along the opposite faces of the hills over- 
looking the road, and directed to seek out hiding-places behind rocks, 
trees, and bushes. These men were under the immediate orders of in- 
dividuals selected for the occasion, but attached to the command of 
Witt, who was stationed at the barrier. 

About a hundred were placed in ambush in the mouth of the ravine, 
just below the road, on the north side of the river, under Schwartz. 
These were all picked men — our steadiest and coolest sharp-shooters — 
who were placed there for the purpose of attacking and carrying the 
guns of the enemy at the water's edge. & '• ■ 

Douglas himself, at the head of the rest of his corps, prepared to 
occupy the road on the north side of the river, to bring on the action. 
These were divided into two equal bodies, and the whole ranged in 


platoons, at open order, across the road. Of the two battalions, as they 
may be called, the foremost was placed under my command. The 
other Douglas commanded in person. My offers -were to post my 
headmost platoon just at the bend of the road, on the top of the hill 
where it turns to the right. They were instructed to fire ad Umitum 
each man choosing and mating sure of his mark, and then to file away 
by the right, and, taking to their heels, to run down to*the river, cross 
it, and dispose themselves on the other bank, so as most effectually to 
gall the enemy, should he attempt to cross. Each platoon, in succes- 
sion, was to march up to the same ground, and, having fired, to execute 
the same manoeuvre. The remaining column, under Douglas, were to 
stand their ground until the enemy should come in view on the top of 
the hill, and then to fall back fighting, and cross under cover of those 
who should have passed before. But ijpe best account of what wag 
order-ed will be gathered from what was done* 


1*4 tSe PASlTtSAft L1AMT&. 


The triumph and the vanity, 

The. rapture of the strife ; 
The earthquake voice of victory, 

To thee the breath of life ; 
All quelled :-*— Dark spirit, what must be 
The madness of thy memory ? 

While these arrangement were in progress, scouts were hourly 
arriving. The country being altogether friendly, th«y were readily 
provided with fresh horses; and, before the enemy were halfway 
from Lynchburg, we were fully apprised -of their number, equipments, 
and order of Diarchy First came a squadron of dragoons ; then a light 
company ; then Trefor's regiment, about five hundred strong"; then a 
company of artillery ; then- one battalion of Mason's regiment, con- 
sisting of something more than two hundred men ; the whole followed 
by a few light troops, by way of rear-guard. The whole might amount 
to a thousand men, well appointed and prepared at all points for effi- 
cient action. 

On the morning of the fifth of November the men were ordered to 
betake themselves to their allotted posts ; and Douglas, having visited 
each, and seen that all was right, and rightly understood, addressed 
himself to his particular command. Where every man is an officer, 
each niust be told -individually beforehand what is expected from him. 
Panic apart, they will be apt to fulfil such instructions, and will fight 
with the terrible efficiency of individual animosity. Hence thefo^rmida^ 
ble character of partisan warfare. • *", "" * V 

At length the enemy made their appearance. Clinging to the idea 
of surprising Douglas, Col. Trevor sent forward no advance, but deter- 
mined to bring the whole strength of his corps to bear upon him at 
once. If he employed any scouts, they were either unfaithful, or were 
not permitted to approach near enough to learn any thing of the posi- 
tion or movements of Douglas. The consequence was, that Col. Trevor 
received the first intimation of his presence, from a sharp firing in 
front, which sent his horse to the right-about and back to the rear. 
Pressing forward, he immediately ordered his sharp-shooters to disperse 
an!? Ske positions to gall us, while he pushed on his solid column of 


heavy infantry. The reception prepared for them was such as he had 
not dreamed of. His men fell like leaves in autumn — and, as fast as 
one platoon of the mountaineers discharged their pieces, another was 
on the same ground to pour in again that terrible fire, of which the 
martinets of the regular service have so inadequate an idea. Instead 
of the deep-mouthed peal of muskets, discharged simultaneously, there 
is the sharp, short crack of rifle after rifle, fired by men no one of 
whom touches the trigger until he sees precisely, where his ball is to 
go. The effect was suitable to the cause ; but yet the steady infantry 
pressed on, 

" Each stepping where his comrade stood," 

\o form an unbroken front, in order to charge with the bayonet. 
, Suddenly the firing ceased, and, behold, their enemy jeemed to 
have fled from the expected charge. The fact T was, that my last pla- 
toon, having fired, had withdrawn like their"<p%decessors, and were 
running at full speed after their companions, down the hill and acros3 
the river. At the water's edge, I stopped and joined Schwartz in his 
ambush. It had been arranged that I should do this ; because, in case 
we should be so fortunate as to seize the cannon, my skill as an artil- 
lerist might be of great use. Meantime, my men having crossed over, 
dispersed themselves along the bank, the face of the hills, and across 
the road, to cover the retreat of those who remained. 

The regulars had necessarily, spent a few. moments in repairing the 
wreck of their shattered column' before they advanced. They then 
moved forward, but, before they turned the angle of the road, most of 
my men were across the river. At the same time, the column under 
the immediate command of Douglas was seen drawn up in the road, 
near the foot of the hill, with the rear resting on the water's edge. As 
the enemy advanced the front platoon fired, faced to the right, and 
filing along the flank of the column, entered the river, and crossed just 
below the ford. They next filed to the left in the. same way, and 
crossed above the ford. In this manner the whole column disappeared, 
one platoon after another, while their fire was answered by a roar of 
musketry, which, being discharged from the higher ground, did more 
harm to those on the farther bank of the river than to the nearer ene- 
my. At length the last platoon was withdrawn, and the regulars 
rushed down toward the river for the purpose of annoying them in 
crossing. In this attempt they were again checked and driven back 
by the terrible fire of my men, who, having already crossed, were 
drawn up, as I. have said, on the other bank. 


Col. Trevor now saw the necessity of advancing his artillery, which 
was accordingly hurried down to the water's edge to clear a passage for 
the infantry. By the time the cannon were untimbered, not a man of 
the mountaineers was to be seen. As soon as their companions had 
crossed, they dispersed with every appearance of confusion and alarm; 
some scampering along the road, and some clambering up the hills on 
both sides of it. 

The way was now open, and the infantry advanced to cross the river. 
At this moment Colonel Mason, riding up to Colonel Trevor, pointed 
out the advantageous position of the artillery as a cover to his rear, if 
he should be forced- to retreat. " Give me leave to suggest," said he, 
" that it may be well to leave the cannon where they are. The cavalry, 
too, cannot act with* effect among those hills, and the two together, 
should the fortune of the day be unpropitious, may be of more use 
here than^on the other side." 

" You say true," said Trevor. " It shall be as you advise, and yon, 
Colonel, will remain Jfi«Command of this reserve." 

" I earnestly beg, sir," said Mason, "that you will not deny me a 
share in the work of the day. The Captains of artillery and dragoons 
are all-sufficient to the command of their respective corps." 

" Pardon me, sir," said Trevor. " None can be so proper to execute 
your prudent and cautious device as you, its author. You will be 
pleased, therefore, to repair to the rear, rally the dragoons^ and bring 
them down "to the water's edge. Let them be ready to cross at a mo- 
ment's warning, to assist in the pursuit as soon as I have driven the 
enemy into the plain." 

Saying this. Colonel Trevor turned off, and giving the word to march, 
dashed into the rivesr. Poor Mason, insulted and mortified, neverthe- 
less patiently addressed himself to the duty assigned him. Thus was 
this able arid brave man denied all participation in an affair which his 
arrogant and sanguine commander believed to be an abounding source 
of honor to all who might be engaged in it. 

I have- omitted to mention that, as soon as the plan of endeavoring 
to surprise the artillery had been adopted, Schwartz had requested me 
to draw the outline of a piece of mounted ordnance in the sand, and 
to mark the proper positions of the artillerists employed about it. 
While I did this, some ten or fifteen of our best marksmen stood by, 
looking on attentively. When my sketch was done, he turned to one 
of them, and pointing to one of *he marks made to stand for an artil- 
lerist, said coolly: "Now, this is your man;" and to -another, "this 
is yours." Thus he went on till he had doomed every victim. 

While we are supplying this omission in our narrative, the reader will 


please suppose that Col. Trevor's regiment have forded the river, and 
have passed up the road and out of sight. It will be remembered that 
the hills on both sides of the defile had been lined with concealed 
marksmen, and that tie greater part of the advance had, on recrossing 
the river, thrown themselves into the same places of concealment. But 
the idea that they had done so for any purpose but that of safety, 
entered not into Col. Trevor's mind'. Indeed, if he had had any doubt, 
it must have been removed when he found, that as his column wound 
through the deep defile, not a shot molested their march. At the first 
angle of the road he halted and let . the column march past him. He 
could see, from this point, both the head of it, as it advanced, and the 
rear as it came up. As the later passed the spot where he stood, the 
leading platoon was iii the act of turning the next angle of the road. 
At that moment he heard the startling report of a. volley of rifles. He 
set spurs to his horse to gallop to the front, when every rock and every 
tree of the surrounding hills burjst into flame, and the deep ravine 
echoed to the report of a hundred rifles. A shot struck his horse, and 
another piercing his hat, grazed the top of his head deep enough to lay 
bare the skull, and stun him as he fell under his slaughtered horse. 
He was thus placed hors de combat, owing the preservation of his life 
to the insigna of his rank which had endangered it., 

The sound of this firing was the signal for us. Each of the selected 
marksmen fixed his aim on his appropriate victim ; and, at a word 
from Schwartz, the artillerymen at the guns fell as if swept away by the 
breath of a tempest. Rushing from our hiding-place, the cannon were 
instantly in our possession. The company of artillery were not slow to 
disappear behind the angle of the rock, and one or two who peeped 
out, being instantly picked off, we saw no more of them. 

Presently we heard the heavy tramp of the squadron slowly descend- 
ing the hill, accompanied with the peculiar sound of dragoons, dressing 
the front in preparation for a sudden and overwhelming charge. While 
this was passing, our gups were, all reloaded. "Mind, boys," said 
Schwartz ; " all of number one." The word was understood, and 
every alternate man stood ready, with rifle cocked and trigger set, to 
receive the enemy. The charge was sounded, and the leading horse- 
men, wheeling around the rock, were rushing on at full speed, when 
horses and riders were seen to go down in one promiscuous heap. The 
greater number of the squadron were still out of sight ; and, had the 
way been open, might have followed to share the fate of their com- 
panions, and finally to ride us down when our guns should have been 
all discharged. But the work had been done too effectually. The 
dead and wounded (both horse and rider) nearly filled the road ; and 


for dragoons to pick their way among such appalling obstacles,' in the 
face of fifty loaded rifles, at a distance of twenty paces, was out of the 
question. A few who made the attempt found this to their cost. The 
charge was not renewed, and some of our men advancing to the angle 
of the rock, and occupying inaccessible but commanding points on the 
hills, soon made them draw off to a safe d'stance. 

While this was doing, I, with th'e few men selected for the service 
of the artillery, gave my attention to that. Glancing my eye along 
both pieces, I saw that both had been accurately pointed into the road 
on the other side. I had nothing, therefore to do but to apply the 
port-fire, which was still burning in the clenched hand of a dead artil- 
lerist. By this time the column had fallen back, and the road below 
the first angle was fast filling with the retreating mass. I had never 
before witnessed the effusion of blood ; and, heated as mine now was, 
it ran cold as I applied the match. As the smoke cleared off, I saw 
the enemy throwing away their arms, and stretching out theft hands, 
some toward me, and some aloft to the unseen foe that galled them 
from the hills. The fire instantly slackened, and cravats and handker- 
chiefs being raised on the points of swords and bayonets, it ceased alto- 
gether. The mountaineers now poured down from the hills into the 
ravine, securing the arms of the 'enemy, mixing among them and hem- 
ming them in on every side. Douglas, whose place since he had re- 
crossed the river, had been among these concealed marksmen, was one 
of the first to approach the enemy. Advancing to those whose rank 
was most conspicuous, he. made known his authority, and received their 

Meantime Col. Trevor had recovered his senses, and found himself 
fastened to the ground by the weight of his horse, which lay upon his 
leg. He was presently discovered, relieved, and helped to rise. ' At 
this moment he caught the eye of Douglas, who hastened to him, less 
from impatience to demand his sword than to offer assistance to one 
who seemed to be an officer of high rank, and badly wounded. In the 
figure before him, all smeared with blood and dirt, he saw nothing by 
which he could recognize his brother. To the Colonel, the disguise of 
Douglas was hardly less complete. He had seen him receiving the 
surrender of others, and stood prepared to go through the same humili- 
ating ceremony. He felt that his own disgrace was complete, and the 
form of surrender was thought of with indifference. He had already 
reached the lowest depth of abasement. 

" But in that lowest depth a lower deep" seemed to open, when, as 
he extended his hand to deliver his sword to the victor, he discovered 
that the hand put forth to receive it was that of Douglas. He flung 


down his sword, stamping with rage, and immediately after called to 
his men to resume. their arms. The voice struck the ear of Douglas, 
though dissonant with passion. The figure, too, confirmed his suspicion 
of the truth ; and ,he immediately rushed _to screen his hrother with 
his own body from the rifles pointed against him. Calling for aid to 
those around, he presently succeeded in securing the Colonel, and after 
one or 4wo fruitless attempts to soothe him, ordered him away to the 
house of Mr. Gordon. To that gentleman he spoke aside, and ex- 
plaining in confidence the strange scene that he had just witnessed, 
besought him to take command of the escort, and to pay all imaginable 
attention to the health, comfort, arid feelings of the Colonel. He was 
accordingly led away, raging and foaming at the mouth like a spoiled 
«hild who has been deprived of his toy, or baulked in his amusement. 
The mortification of Douglas was extreme; but he had the satisfaction 
to find that Arthur was not present; and to no other person but 
Schwartz and myself did the name of Colonel Trevor afford a hinfc of 
ifche connexion. 



- If thou didst but consent 

To this most cruel acj, do but despair ; 

And if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread 

That ever spider twisted from her womb 

Will serve to strangle ; a rush will be 

A beam to hang thee on! Or, wouldst thou drown thyself 

Put but a little water in a spoon, 

And it shall be, as all the ocean, 

Enough to stifle such a villain ! 

I shall not detain the reader with a detail of the farther particulars 
of this skirmish. Indeed we hardly staid to acquaint ourselves with 
its exact results. As at least half the men who had fought under 
Douglas on that day had no intention to follow him any farther, we left 
to them the care of the killed, wounded, and prisoners. The body 
of Col. Mason alone was selected for a more honorable burial than the 
rude hands of the mountaineers could bestow. It was dragged from 
beneath the incumbent mass of me,n and horses, placed on a suitable 
carriage, covered with the eolors of his regiment, and taken to Lynch- 
burg, to be there restored to his companions in arms. The band of 
his regiment were also marched to that place to assist in rendering the 
last honors to their late commander. 

Having given the neeessary orders, Douglas snatched a moment to 
ride to Mr. Gordon's, where he hoped to find his brother in a more 
reasonable mood. The Colonel had been confined in a private room ; 
and being treated with great courtesy and respect, had lost nothing of 
his arrogance. Such is always the effect of delicate attention to .the 
undeserving. A man of merit would have been softened and melted 
by the deference with which Colonel Trevor was treated. To him it 
seemed but that sort of spontaneous homage to greatness which the 
heart pays unconsciously. The effect of it was, that being told by Mr. 
Gordon that his brother had come to visit him in his room, he sent 
him the following magnanimous note, pencilled on the back of a letter; 

" I am your prisoner. Do with me as you please. Inflict on me 
any death, however cruel; but spare me the sight of one whose treasons 
have dishonored our common name, and who has deprived me of my 
only chance to restore its former splendor." 


Douglas was inexpressibly shocked at this manifestation 'of a temper 
at once savage and coldly selfish. But he had no time to waste in 
parleying with the ungoverned passions of his brother, and wrote an 
answer in these words : 

" You are my prisoner, and mine only, and shall be treated with all 
tenderness and respect. I am responsible to no one for your custody, 
and you shall soon be at liberty. Go home. Go to our venerable 
father, and comfort his declining jears. If the instincts of your heart 
do not restrain you from fighting against your brothers, (for Arthur is 
with me,) let a sense of honor make you regard yourself as a prisoner 
on parole, not at liberty to fight again against Virginia. Meantime 
your sword shall .be restored, and you shall be treated in all things as 
the brother of D. T." 

While Douglas was engaged in this painful duty, Arthur was em- 
ployed in preparing a formal report of the events of the day. This 
was signed by the Chief on his return, and with it the young man was 
despatched to B — , with instructions to ask his orders, and return with 
them, unless another messenger should be preferred. In the mean- 
time all things had been made ready for the march to Lynchburg. I 
shall not give the history of this. It was triumphal, as far as complete 
success and the applauding gratulations of the people could make it so. 
We had no difliculty in adding to our numbers as many men as the 
fruits of our victory enabled us to supply with arms. Some joined us 
instantly, and others engaged to ^ndezvous at Lynchburg in a few 

There was nothing to damp thenieasure of Douglas, but the conduct 
of his perverse brother, and the^pence of the dead body of his old 
friend, Colonel Mason. On our arrival before the camp at Lynchburg, 
I received orders to present myself with a flag before the gate, at the 
head of a detachment which escorted the body, accompanied by the 
music of his band, and all the sad and imposing insignia of a military 

An officer came out to meet us, and thus received the first authentic 
history of the fate of the expedition. I was instructed to deliver over 
the body of Colonel Mason with every circumstance of respect and 
courtesy. I was also charged to demand the surrender of the en- 
trenched camp, and of the garrison as prisoners of war. 

A negotiation ensued, which ended in a suspension of arms for five 
days, and an agreement to surrender if, in that time, no reinforcement 


This arrangement was by no means unwelcome to Douglas. It gave 
him time to receive and organize the new recruits that Were pouring 


in, and to await the return of Arthur. In the meantime much of that 
sort of intercourse which is common on such occasions took place. 
There are few things in life more pleasant than it is. There must be 
less of malignity in human nature than is generally supposed, or men 
would not seize, with so much eagerness, on opportunities to lose the 
idea of public hostility in the kindly interchange of courtesy and good 
offices. Friendships are never formed more suddenly and cordially than 
under such circumstances. So we found it on this occasion. Major 
Wood, the officer in command, was a. gentleman and soldier, honorable, 
frank, generous, and accomplished. I was brought much into contact 
with him, and found him enthusiastic in his acknowledgments of the 
merits of Douglas, and eager to become acquainted with him. But the 
time had not come when he was willing to be known by his true name; 
and besides that he was acquainted with the Major, there were many 
others in the camp who would have recognized him. He therefore 
confined himself to his quarters, on various pleas of business; and, to 
make his seclusion effectual, took lodgings in a house in the suburbs of 
the town.. By his advice, I mixed much with the men; and, as I had 
acquitted myself to their entire satisfaction in the late affair, I found 
that I was in a fair way to be recognized as second in command. 
Schwartz and Witt made a point of consulting me publicly on all oc- 
casions ; and this circumstance, together with my daily attention to the 
organization of the troops, obtained me full credit for all my military 
skill, and a great deal more. _ 

The five days passed away quiteJmeasantly. The regulars, finding 
that they were not like to fall into the hands of savages, were becom- 
ing reconciled to the fate which nojpleined inevitable ; and we parted 
on the last night of the truce, with no unpleasant anticipations of the 
surrender which was to take place the next day at noon. 

The morning came, and our men paraded in high spirits, and with 
considerable show of order and discipline. This was particularly the 
case with a small company which had been detailed for the service of 
the artillery, who took their stand at the guns with the air of men 
proud of their new acquirements. I had indeed taken great pains to 
train and exercise them, and, by universal consent, was recognized as 
the immediate commander of this corps, which was drawn up with the 
cannon planted directly against the gate of the camp. 

All this time Douglas did not make his appearance. At length the 
hour approached for the garrison to march out, and lay down their 
arms, when Schwartz went to his quarters to receive his orders. He 
soon returned, and taking me aside, told me that Douglas was not at 
his quarters, and was nowhere to be seen. 


We had already observed appearances in the camp not at all answer- 
able to the expected surrender, and I was now startled at this intelli- 
gence. The character of Major Wood forbade indeed any suspicion of 
foul play. But the time was near at hand when the enemy should 
march out, and we heard nothing of their drums, calling the men to 
parade. We determined, therefore, to send a flag to the camp on some 
pretext. The officer who carried it was immediately warned off, and 
having said that he had a communication for Major Wood, was told 
that that officer was no longer in command, and that Col. Trevor 
would receiye no communication from rebels and traitors. 

This was decisive. The, quarters of Douglas were not very distant 
from the enemy, and such had been the appearance of perfect good 
faith in all their proceedings, that our camp had been guarded even 
more negligently than is common with militia. It seemed, indeed, al- 
most incredible that Col. Trevor could have been guilty of an act of 
base treachery against the life or liberty of his generous brother; but 
to Schwartz and myself, who knew the connexion, even this seemed 
hardly less extravagant than his former conduct. That he had escaped, 
joined the troops, and disclaimed the capitulation entered into by Ma- 
jor Wood, was certain. To have surprised and carried off Douglas 
could not be much worse. 

We now consulted with Witt, to whom we communicated our suspi- 
cions, at the same time disclosing the true name of our young com- 
mander, and his relation to Col. Trevor. What was suspicion with us, 
was at once absolute certainty with him. I do not think I ever wit- 
nessed such a change as our communication made in the whole appear- 
ance and demeanor of the man. Heretofore, I had always seen him 
cool, cautious, deliberate, and thoughtful. There was, besides, a pre- 
vailing tone of benevolence in all he said, which, added to his sobriety 
and strong sense, gave him some claim to the title of philosopher. But 
now the expression of his countenance was terrible and awful. He 
had made no show of regard for Douglas*; but his attachment was deep 
and abiding, and his alarm for his safety was in the same degree. He 
was impatient of a moment's delay, sternly protested against wasting 
time in discussion, and insisted on immediately storming the camp. 

-Schwartz was nothing behind him in zeal, though less disturbed by 
passion ; and we presently determined to bring matters to extremities. 
As soon, therefore, as the hour appointed for surrender arrived, our 
captive drummer was ordered to beat a parley. To this the only answer 
was a general fire of musketry from the whole line of the camp on that 
side, by which a few men were hurt. But the distance was too great 
for any serious mischief. Enough, however, was done to excite the 


men to -fury ; and without waiting for the word, they rushed to the as- 
sault. Their movement determined me. To rush up to the piqueted 
entrenchment, behind which the enemy were in comparative safety, 
was to expose themselves, to destruction. It was indispensable to open 
a way for them. This I effected by a discharge of both pieces of ar- 
tillery, which tore the gate away, and pointed their attack to this acces- 
sible point. The moment after, Colonel Trever, with his untractable 
rashness, appeared in the gateway, shouting, and calling to his men to 
sally forth against us. He was instantly recognized by the incensed 
Witt, whose fatal aim brought him to the ground. His men fell back ; 
and in a moment after, a white flag was raised. 

It was no easy matter to prevail on our men to pay any regard to this 
signal; but we succeeded in restraining them before it was too late. 
Of course we demanded the instant surrender of the place, which was 
unhesitatingly given up. Major Wood now came forward to apologize 
and explain. Col.. Trevor, having made his escape, had returned to the' 
camp soon after tattoo. His whole behavior was that of a man beside 
himself, and actuated by some inscrutable motive to some inscrutable 
purpose. Of these he said nothing to his officers, but peremptorily 
disclaiming the capitulation, gave orders that all things should be pre- 
pared for a renewal of hostilities the next morning. Nothing more 
was known but that he had 'summoned to his quarters a favorite sergeant 
of his own regiment, who had been left sick in camp when he marched 
against Douglas. This sergeant and four soldiers, as it seemed from 
the morning report, had disappeared in the night. 

Major Wood assured us, that all that had been since done had taken 
place under the immediate orders and superintendence of Colonel Tre- 
vor, and in spite of his own most earnest remonstrances. In proof of 
his sincerity, he appealed to the fa'ct of his unconditional surrender the 
moment he was apprised of the fall of the Colonel. With all this I 
was perfectly satisfied, and gladly returned«him his sword, with a proper 
acknowledgment of his gentlemanly conduct. 

" And now, Major," said Schwartz, " there is another matter we 
want to talk to you about. Do you know any thing of our Captain ?" 

" Of Captain Douglas ?" said the Major. " Certainly not. But I 
hope I may now have the pleasure of seeing him." 

" Look here, Major," said Witt, whose eye still glared with ferocity 
not at all abated by the fall of Trevor; " that a'nt the thing; and we 
Want a straight answer. Captain Douglas is missing, and we want to 
know what's become of him." 

"Missing!" said the Major, with unfeigned amazement. "I assure 
you, upon my honor, I know nothing of him." 


" Is there any body here that knows, or is likely to know ?" said 

" None that I can imagine," was the reply. 

" Is there not a Captain here," asked Schwartz ; "a red-headed fel- 
low, that commands the company at Farmville?" 

" Captain Cottle ? Yes." 

" Well, I want to see him." 

He was immediately summoned, and presently made his, reluctant 
appearance. His alarm increased on seeing Schwartz and Witt. 

" See here, Mister," said the former ; " here is a piece of yttlainy 
that we want to know about; and there 'is nobody, I reckon, so apt to 
tell us as you." 

"Indeed, sir," said Cottle, " I declare, sir, I don't know' a word 
about it." 

" You don't, eh !" said Schwartz. "Well, any how, you are mighty 
quick to find out that you don't know ; that I must say for you." 

" Did you ever see me before ?" said Witt, fixing his terrible eye on 
the alarmed Captain. " Did you ever see me before?" repeated he. 
" Do you remember where it was ? Do, you remember your business 
there ; and did you^ever hear of such a thing as a man being hung for 
a spy?" 

-The collapse of deadly terror came over Cottle at these dreadful 
words. His face, already pale, became livid ; his eye ne longer blench- 
ed under the fearful glance of Witt; but the lids opened as if by mu- 
tual repulsion, while his lip and under jaw fell powerless. He was 
roused from this state by Schwartz, who asked him what had become of 
Cajj|ain Douglas. 

He was now effectually scared out of all thought of concealment, 
and answered without prevarication that Captain Douglas had been sur- 
prised, during the night, by the order of Col. Trevor, and_ sent away 
immediately under the guard of a sergeant and four men, across the 
rivl^rV -He could not say, certainly, where he was gone; but he sus- 
pected to Washington, as Col. Trevor appeared to have been writing 
busily all the time the party were engaged in the capture of Douglas. 
It was vain to attempt concealing that he had a hand in this, though 
the disclosure was made with great reluctance. It appeared, moreover, 
that he had been anxious to accompany the prisoner, supposing him to 
be ordered for Washington ; but Col. Trevor had refused to send him. 
Indeed, he sent none but those who had not been engaged in the a'ction 
at the ford, and was certainly right not to trust the vain babbler, whose 
idle garrulity could hardly have failed to rub off any gloss he might 
have thought fit t6 spread over the affair. 


" How did they get jfcross the river ?" asked Schwartz. " We have 
a strong guard on the other side, and they had orders to keep a strict 

" Col. Trevor told the sergeant," replied Cottle, "just to float quietly 
down the river and land away below ; and a handkerchief was tied 
over the Captain's mouth to keep him from making a noise, and if he 
did, they were ordered to shoot him." 

I have no words to express the horror with which I heard this last 
circumstance. I trusted, and indeed Major Wood seemed to be of that 
opinion, that Col. Trevor had really been beside himself ; but Tegarding 
his conduct even as the effect of frenzy, it was hardly less shocking. 
From Schwartz the communication only called forth some pithy expres- 
sions of ' detestation, without seeming to interrupt the working of his 
thoughts, which were at once busy to devise some remedy for the evil. 

Witt was differently affected. His whole frame and countenance 
assumed an appearance of stony rigidity, betokening fixed and fearful 
purpose. He turned his glaring eye to the spot where Col. Trevor had 
fallen, with an expression that showed his vengeance quite unsatisfied. 
A glance of fierce scorn fell for a moment on Cottle; and then, with a 
searching look, he addressed himself to Major Wood. 

"Major Wood," said he,-with a voice whose' deep, stern tones, de- 
manded the truth and the whole truth, " did you know any thing of 
this business ?" 

" Upon my honor, I did not ; and Captain Cottle, who did know, will 
tell you so." 

" I would hardly take Ms word against Mmself" said Witt, with cold 
contempt, and not even turning his eye on Cottle. Then pausifg a 
moment, he. added, with the same look of severe scrutiny, " Major 
Wood, do you know who Captain Douglas is ? Do you know that he 
is Col. Trevor's own brother V 

" Gveat God I" exclaimed the Major. " Douglas Trevor ! That Jme, 
intelligent, accomplished, noble young man !— " 

"Did you know him ?" asked the other. 

" I did," said Wood, " and loved him well. Poor fellow ! Poor fel- 
low ! His doom is sealed." 

" That's enough," said Witt. " I see now that you had no hand in 
it. But is it not your duty, Major Wood, to bring back Captain Doug- 
las and set him at liberty ?" 

"Would to God that I could," said the Major;' "but he is quite be- 
vond my reach before this." 

••' See here, Major," said Schwartz ; " write an order to that sergeant 
to bring him back, and give me a pass to follow him without being 


stopped, and I will have him back in no time. Them fellows lost 
ground here crossing the river, and I can catch them." 

" ^hat might do," said the. Major, hesitatingly; "and I am bound 
in honor to do it, because his capture was a breach of my truce. But 
I shall never be forgiven. No matter ; it shall be done if they break 
me for it." 

" You may thank the Major," said Witt, turning his implacable eye 
on Cottle, "for that word; for it has given you a' chance for your life. 
But for that, you would have been hanging like a dog in half an hour. 
Now, Major, I don't want you to come to any harm ; and so you shall 
have a fair excuse. Bring Captain Douglas back to us, and we will let 
this fellow go. But if the Captain is not here before the week is out, 
then, as sure as there is a God in Heaven, he shall be hanged for a spy, 
as he is." 

There is a difference between the certainty of being hanged in half 
an hour, and a chance of escape, however unpromising. To Captain 
Cottle, who had not ventured nearer to Jones's Ford than the rear of 
the dragoons, and who was now in greater peril' than he had ever wil- 
lingly encountered, the' difference was of great importance. Yet his 
hopes were faint, for he had heard the orders of Trevor, which enjoined- 
despatch; and he was equally earnest in hurrying the Major and 
Schwartz. His impertinence was cut short by ordering him to close 
custody in jail ; and the credentials of Schwartz being soon prepared^ 
he set out on his journey. 



That lies like truth, and yet most truly lies. 

Let us again intrude into the sanctuary of majesty. The President 
is alone, as before. He has the same air of somewhat impatient ex- 
pectation. A shade of anxious thought is on his brow, and his cheek 
is flushed with some little excitement. Yet these elements are all so 
mixed as to be scarcely perceptible ; and were he conscious that we are 
looking at him, they would be completely concealed. On the table lie 
a number of letters recently received. Two of them are separated 
from the rest. He takes up one and reads it a second time. Let us 
look over him. It runs thus : 

" The wisest may be deceived ; the most vigilant may be betrayed : 
for the most trusted are often the most treacherous. Caution." 

" What means this ?" said the President, musingly. " Who is it that 
I am warned against ? The word 'most' is underscored. Who does, 
that point at ? Whom do I trust most ? I trust nobody. But I seem 
to trust; and whom most? Surely, it cannot be he. I should, in- 
deed, be wrong to trust to his fidelity. But he is too wise to be false 
to his own interest. But may he not have an interest that I am not 
aware of? It must be considered." 

He then took up the other letter, which I beg leave to lay before the 
reader, as a specimen of the art with which the truth may be so told as 
to make others believe what is false. I recommend it particularly to 
military gentlemen, reporting the results of a battle. 

Headquarters, Camp near Lynchburg, \ 
November 12, 1849. j 
Sir : I have the honor to lay before your Excellency an account of 
the operations of the troops under my command, since the date of my 
last despatch. * 

In pursuance of the information I had received, of which your Ex- 
cellency has been already advised, I marched on the 3d instant, at the 
head of my own regiment, one battalion of the 15th, a company of ar- 
tillery and of dragoons, to meet Douglas on his descent from the 


mountains. At Jones's Ford, on Staunton river, I encountered him, 
when about half his force had crossed over. I attacked him immedi- 
ately, and, after a sharp conflict, drove him across the river. By the 
advice of Col. Mason, I left the artillery and dragoons on the north 
bank, to protect our rear, placing them under the command of that 
distinguished officer. 

Pressing hard uppn the rear of the enemy, we came up with him 
just as he had fallen back on the reserve. Here he rallied, and the 
fight was renewed. I regret to say that, at the first fire, my horse fell 
under me, imprisoning my leg by his fall. At the same moment a. 
ball struck my head, and I came to the ground insensible. 

You will judge of my astonishment, when, on recovering my senses, 
I found that all my^ men near me had thrown down their arms, and 
that I was in the hands of the enemy, who assisted me to rise. I im- 
mediately called to my men to resume their arm's, but am sorry to in- 
form you thai: I was not obeyed. As I had not surrendered, I was 
seized and hurried away to the house of a* ringleader of these rebels, 
where I was confined. From that time I had no means of receiving 
any information on which I could rely'concerning the events of the 
day, as I had no intercourse with any but the rebels. 

Two days ago I was so fortunate as to make my escape. Returning 
to this place, I find my camp, which had been left under the command 
of Major Wood, beleaguered by the rebels, and a treaty for surrender 
in full progress. I rejoice that I have returned in time to prevent a 
consummation so disgraceful. 

It is now midnight, and a small party has been sent out to endeavor 
to surprise the leader of this banditti. In the meantime all things are 
put in readiness for a sortie in the morning. I shall not close my let- 
ter until I can give some farther account of the success of these ope- 

Two o'clock, A. M — My scouts have come in, and brought in the 
hostile' chief, who proves tobe the last man in the world whom I could 
have wished to find in arms against the generous master who so well 
deserved his grateful devotion. I speak of that unfortunate youth, 
whose fault, (I must not use a harsher term,) nearly twelve months ago, 
dishonored our common name and parentage. Your Excellency will 
appreciate the struggle in my bosom between a sense of duty and the 
foolish but inextinguishable relentings of nature. I have determined 
to put an end to this painful strife, and to take security against my own 
weakness, by sending him on immediately to you, without awaiting the 
result of the meditated sortie in the. morning. He therefore travels in 


custody of the bearer of this letter, under guard of a sergeant and 
four 'men. 

Having returned to the camp this night, after tattoo, I am unpre- 
pared to give any account of our loss, or that of the enemy. I have 
nothing authentic but the lamented death of Col. Mason, who fell 
fighting bravely. 

I beg leave to express an humble hope that your Excellency will be 
pleased to attribute the partial failure of my enterprise to the unfortu- 
nate wound which put me hors du combat, at a moment, up to, which 
we had successfully driven the enemy before us for nearly, half a mile 
and across the riyer. 

I remain, sir, with the most profound respect, your Excellency's 
most humble and faithful servant, 

Owen Trev»r, Col. 18th Inf. 

" A worthy gentleman," said the President, folding up the letter. 
" A most worthy gentleman ! Let any man doubt henceforth, if he 
can, that the only way to judge in advance of what a man will do, is 
to ascertain his interest. See how readily it settled this nice point of 
casuistry — this delicate question of conflicting duties Trust ! Yes, I 
will trust; but not as fools do. I will trust no man's honor, but every 
man's interest. The experience of my whole life has taught the les- 
son, and every day confirms it. Here comes a new example," added 
he, as'- the door-bell sounded, and was echoed by the single stroke In 
the room. 

The door opened, and the honorable Mr. Baker appeared. His 
figure had lost nothing of its deferential bend ; his step nothing of i^s 
creeping, cautious tread; his countenance nothing of its abject ser- 
vility. But there was more of anxiety and less of hope, with a slight 
appearance of peevish dissatisfaction. 

" You are very good, my dear sir," said the President. " You are 
lways almost present to my wish. Government would be an easy task; 

ere all officers like you." 

" I humbly thank your Excellency," replied the Judge. " Were 
not your approbation precious to me, I might be tempted, perhaps, to 
look more than I ought to public opinion. Perhaps I do so, as it is; 
for though my duties are clearly necessary to the good of the State, 
I find it hard to bear the loud reproaches of a misjudging multitude, 
that reach me through a factious press." . 

f< Let it not reach you, my dear sir. The storm does but rage with- 
out. Why need you hear it when it touches you not ? Shut your ears 
and sleep soundly ; or open them only to the more pleasant tones that 
issue from loyal lips. I take carjs not to know what is said of me by 


malcontent scribblers ; but I .hardly flatter myself that I should pre- 
serve my equanimity if I read all that is written." 

"It is sometimes impossible not to hear," said the Judge; "and 
there are words which convey reproach, which, though uttered in a' 
single breath, reach the heart. I can never, I fear, make myself proof 
against such a phrase as 'judicial murder." 

" But you must find consolation in your own enlighted conscience, 
my dear sir. Some feeling must be e«pected when the edge of the 
law falls on victims whose offences demand punishment, and yet are 
such as those the world calls, honorable and upright are most likely to 

" The misfortune is," replied the other, u that it is only for such of- 
fences, and on such victims, that my office seems to be made to act ; 
and when the curse rises up against me, loud as well as deep, and ut- 
tered and echoed on every side, I. pray your Excejlency to pardon me 
when I say that I find its honors and emoluments a poor compensa- 

" It will be some relief to you/then," replied the President, " that 
you are like to have a subject of a different sort to act upon. One 
whose crimes offend against the laws of God as well as man; and who 
is not more obno'xious to State policy than to the detestation of all good 
men, and of none more than yourself." 

" Of whom is your Excellency pleased to speak ?'' asked Mr. Baker. 

" Of no other than that young fellow, Trevor, whose ill luck snatched 
him away from our hands, when perhaps he was not quite ripe for 
punishment. But he has since made himself perfect in crime, by be- 
coming the leader of a desperate banditti. In short, he is no other 
than the famous Captain Douglas, 'and is now in my power. I think 
you will find in his case a fair set-off against some of the mortifications 
of which you complain; and think no more of denying your services 
to the public, at least until he has fulfilled his destiny." 

The effect of this communication on * the mind of the honorable 
gentleman was such as the President had anticipated. To every 1 being 
of the name of Trevor he bore a. mortal antipathy. In the case of 
Douglas, this was rendered more intense by the sympathy of a father 
with a favorite son. An envious malignity was a striking feature in 
the characters both of fathei. and son ; and this had been provoked io 
the utmost by that unfortunate young man. Both were sensible that 
the younger Baker had been in bad odor with* the public ever since 
the affair at the falls; and hence, it was not only grateful to their 
malice but to their pride, to fasten on Douglas a stigma so dishonora- 
ble as to have relation back, and to excuse his adversary with those 


who did not know all the circumstances, for not seeking such redress 
as gentlemen demand of gentlemen only. 

The good humor of the Judge was now manifestly restored, and the 
President went on to give him some particulars of the late military oc- 
currences. Douglas, he said, was on the road, and would reach Wash- 
ington the next day. The letter, it seems, had been brought by a sol* 
dier who had orders to outgo the rest of the party, and ride express to 
Washington. * 

" It is well," said the President, " that I have this timely intimation 
of his approach. The custody of State prisoners cannot be safely en- 
trusted to any but the military ; and that of this young man must be 
committed to no corps in which he had any acquaintance. It seems 
that he was a universal favorite among men and officers. I am about 
to take measures to guard against any such blunder." 

In such conversation half an hour was passed, when the Minister 
made his appearance. He had been sent for, and to him the President 
communicated the history of the capture of Douglas. Had he turned 
an eye of close scrutiny on the favorite, at the moment when he ut- 
tered the name, and announced the fate of his victim, he might have 
seen a slight expression of countenance which it would not have been 
,easy to interpret. But this escaped him ; and he went on to direct 
that the true name of the prisoner should be kept secret; that his ar- 
rival should be watched for ; and that he should be at once conducted 
to a place provided for the separate confinement of State prisoners. 
It was/ moreover, ordered that a detail of ofiicers and men for that 
prison should be earefully made, so as to exclude any persons whose 
loyalty was at all doubtful j and especially all who, from former associa- 
tions, could be supposed to feel any kindness for Douglas. 

Finally, it was agreed that, should he arrive in the course of that 
night, or the next day, he should be brought, on the following night, 
before the triumvirate, in the room where they then were. 

" You were right," continued the President, addressing his Miniiter, 
" when you said that this young man had talent. The discovery of his 
identity explains the* marvellous organization and efficiency of that 
wild banditti that he commanded. His capture must be fatal to their 
future success. They must be powerless now that they have lost their 
leader, and must soon disband. That is wejl. The two regiments may 
now be marched from Lynchburg to Richmond, and save us the neces- 
sity of sending a reinforcement from this quarter. The troops there, 
with this aid, will certainly be sufficient to check the insurrectionary 
movements that we hear of in the southern counties, and to cover the 
meeting of the Legislature. Col. Trevor has certainly deserved well. 


I am afraid his unfortunate wound may have occasioned the loss of 
more men than we could well spare, who seem to have surrendered 
while he was insensible. But the'disabling of Douglas's corps will, of 
course, set'them at liberty to return to their duty. But this takes noth- 
ing from Col. Trevor's merit. He must be brevetted. As to Major 
Wood, in the regular course he should succeed Mason ; but I must 
hear more of this negotiation for a surrender of his post, before he is 
promoted. That affair must be satisfactorily explained, or he will 
hardly escape a court-martial." 

The President now went on to give some farther orders, and then dis- 
missed his guests. 



Treason can never take a form so hideous, 
But it will find a glass, that shall reflect 
A comely semblance, on which self may look 
With a complaeent smile. 

On his departure from Lynchburg, Schwartz had been provided 
with a suit of clothes half military, to prevent the notice which his 
rude mountain attire would have attracted. The day was half spent 
before he was on the road, and the sergeant and his party were already 
far in advance of him. 

Col. Trevor had been desirous, for obvious reasons, that his letter 
and prisoner should reach Washington as soon as possible, and had or- 
dered the party to proceed with all practicable despatch. But, as they* 
might be somewhat retarded by the necessary care of iheir prisoner, ' 
he had directed that the letter should be sent on, as we have seen, by a 
single soldier, who had reached Washington on the second night. But 
the sergeant was not far behind, and had used such diligence that he 
crossed the bridge the next morning at an early hour, just as poor 
Schwartz came in sight. 

He recognized the party by the peculiar dress of Douglas, with 
which he was so familiar ; but it was too late. He followed, however, 
disconcerted by his failure, but not desponding. At the farther end of 
the bridge he was struck with the countenance and manner of a fine 
looking young man, of genteel but plain appearance, who stood gazing 
earnestly after the prisoner and his guard. 

Observing Schwartz, he asked eagerly who the prisoner was, and 
was told it was Captain Douglas. 

•» " Good Cod !" exclaimed he, in a tone of deep concern ; " is it pos- 
sible ? But thank God ! it is no worse .*' 

" Did you think it was anybody you knew ?" asked the quick-witted 

"Yes," replied the other. " I was almost sure it was a friend of my 

"And what was your friend's name, stranger? if I may be to bold." 

" You are bold enough," said the youth. " I am not in the habit 
of answering questions unless I know who asks them, and why." 

"I don't mean no harm, young man/' replied Schwartz; "and if 


you tell me your friend's name and your own .too, may be you won't be 
sorry for it." 

The stranger looked hard at Sehwartz, and in his serious, earnest 
and sagacious countenance, saw enough to make him curious to know 
what this meant. He therefore replied that- his friend was Lieutenant 
Trevor, late of the United States Dragoons. 

"Then I -have ar.-notion," replied Schwartz, "that your name is 
Whiting." " 

"My name is Whiting," replied the other, in great surprise; "but 
how should you know it ?" 

" I have heard the Captain talk about you many a time." 

" The Captain ! What Captain ?" 

" Sim," replied Schwartz, pointing toward the distant party. 

" Sim ! And how was he to know anything about me 1" 

" Just because he is the very man you thought he was." 

"Douglas!" exclaimed Whiting. "Trevor! Douglas Trevor ! Good 
God, what an ass I have been ! Trevor, my friend ! how earnestly 
. have I wished to know where to find you !• Had I been with you, this 
might have been prevented." * 

" May be it is best as it is," said Schwartz. " The Captain did not 
want for friends where he was. May be one friend here will do him 
more good than a hundred anywhere else. That is what I am here for 

"You are a friend to Trevor, then," replied Whiting; "perhaps one 
of his followers." 

" You may say that," said Schwartz. "Any how, I'm his friend." 

" Then come with me to my lodgings. You can tell me everything, 
and we, will see what is to be done. Trevor has friends enough here. 
Thank God ! I saw»him. But for that we might not .have found out 
who he was till it was too late." 

Whiting now showed Schwartz where to bestow his horse, and after- 
wards conducted him to his lodgings. These were in an obscure sub- 
urb, humble, plain, and poorly fitted up. Appearances showed that 
the occupant spent most of his time with the pen, although many, of 
the relics of his former military equipments were to be seen about the 
room. But the dust on his cap, which hung against the wall, and the 
mould on the belt and scabbard of his sword, showed that these had 
been long unused. In truth, the escape of Douglas and his uncle had 
been fatal to him as a soldier. He had been dismissed the army; and 
now, as it seemed, earned a poor livelihood by doing for small wages 
the manual labor of those offices; the salaries of which are received by 
men who do nothing at all. 


During their long walk through, the streets of that city "so magnifi- 
cent in distances," as Monsieur Serrurier said of it, and while a hasty 
breakfast was preparing for Schwartz, he gave Whiting the particulars 
of the late battle at Jones's Ford; of Douglas's capture, and pf his 
brother's death, and the surrender of the camp. As soon as he had 
seen his guest provided fbr, the young man left him alone. Going out, 
he proceeded to the first stand of coaches, and stepping into one was 
driven to the Minister's. Here he alighterl, showed a ticket to 4he 
porter, entered, threaded several passages, descended a dark stair, and, 
going into a small room in the basement, touched the spring of a bell. 
No answering sound was heard ; but, in half an hour the Minister ap- 

"lam glad to see you," said he. " Have you heard that your friend 
Trevor is in the power of his erlemies, and is expected here to-day V 

" I had not heard it," said Whiting; " but I have seen him. He is 

" Indeed ! That is well. We have the more time." 

" Where will he be lodged, and under what custody V 

" In the state prison. I am instrueted to select his guards from 
among those who are strangers to his person, and well-affected to the 

" That will be no easy task, as it seems that all the troops of that 
description have been marched into Virginia, and that, except raw re- 
cruits, there are none here that it was thought safe to trust on that 

"That is true," said the Minister; "and therefore I must select 
those same raw recruits. Think you there are many here who could be 
relied on to peril every thing on behalf of your friend V 

" No doubt of it. I was long enough in the army after his disgrace 
to know that his whole regiment were indignant'at it. A hundred can 
be found ready to wipe, it out with the blood of*the President, or. their 

" It is well. • He will be taken to the palace this night, under the 
cloud of darkness. Have all things in readiness, and watch for his 
return. You will know what to do. Did you know those who had him 
in custody?" 

" I knew the sergeant, and he knew me." 

" All right. You then must be charged with the disappearance of 
Douglas ; you must therefore make your escape with him. I shall, of 
course, see you no more. We have no time for compliment ; but you 
will have my, best wishes; and the time may come when you may have 
it in your power to d6 me justice. My ctuntry is to me, Mr. Whiting, 


what yours is to you. . When New England was permitted to join in 
what you will call the plunder of the South, I was not very scrupulous 
about the means of securing her share. But nearly all that was worth' 
having is irretrievably lost. What remains can only be retained by 
means which will but make it an instrument of power in the hands of 
this man, and so enable him* to perpetuate his reign according to the 
forms of the constitution. Take that away, and leave the matter alte- 
gether to the votes of the northern States, and I shall not long have to 
play second to him. In order to preserve his power, he would be com- 
pelled to break up the system of monopoly contrived for the exclusive 
benefit of his favorite Empire State; or perhaps to concur with me in 
severing a Union, the benefits of which are now lost, by the'escape of 
our common prey, and of which we bear all the inconveniences. Of 
course, I do not pretend that the place to which the favor of my 
countrymen -may advance me in either event, has no charms for me. 
But you will see that I am actuated by no low and sordid ambition. I 
am desirous you should see it in this light. It is not my fortune to 
command the services of many whose esteem is eminently desirable. ■ I 
am, therefore, the more " ambitious of yours. Should I succeed, my 
acts will vindipate my motives. Should I fail, (and if Virginia disen- 
thrals herself I shall not fail,) you will do me this justice. What 
news have you of the movements of B — ?" 

" He is about to take up arms, with the probability of assembling a 
force which, with the concurrence of the corps of Douglas, will secure 
his object." 

" But is not th'e band of Douglas dispersed ?" 
" "By no means; but much increased. They have. still their moun- 
tain leaders, and a young man from the South Carolina military school, 
who seems well qualified to act, for the time, as the locum tenens of the 

"Then farewell, sir," said the Minister. " You carry with you my 
good wishes for yourself and your cause, and I pray you to commend 
them to Mr. B — " 

About the time that these gentlemen thus separated, the President 
was informed that a gentleman and lady craved the favor of a private 
audience. He directed that they should be shown into the. room, the 
privacy of which we have so often violated, rnd soon after he entered it. 

A lady, whose figure and dress denoted youth, was seated on the 
sofa. She was in deep mourning, and a black veil completely hid her 
face. By her side sat a gentleman far advanced in life, and of a most 
venerable aspect. His fair complexion had blanched by time into the 
cold dead whiteness of age. The color had, in like manner, faded 


from his pale blue eye ; and the quivering of his livid lip, and the 
trembling of his Eyelids, betokened deep and anxious distress. Sis' 
dress also was of black, mournfully contrasting with the almost un- 
earthly whiteness of his face. 

At the entrance of the President both rose"; and the trembling and 
agitated old gentleman might be seen to give way for a moment, as if 
about to throw himself on his knees before" the dreaded prince whose 
will was fate." But he recovered himself, and with an air of suppliant 
dignijy, stood as erect as the weakness and infirmity of age permitted. 
The President approached him with a look of perplexity and doubt ; 
and, gazing earnestly at him, said : " I beg to know, sir, who it is. 
Bless me ! Mr. Trevor, is it possible that I see you here, at this 
moment V 

"" I am here, sir," replied the old gentleman, " a broken-hearted, be- 
reaved father, lamenting the loss of one son, and suppliant for the life 
of another; and this is my niece, who is come to join her prayers to 
mine, on behalf of her betrothed husband." 

There was enough in these words to add to the maiden confusion of 
poor Delia, but not enough to prevent her from lifting a timid glance, 
in which there was as much of entreaty as her proud spirit could de- 
scend to. She met the eye of the President, as with an air of quick 
and eager surprise he turned towards her; and in his eye she read a 
meaning which, in the moment, blasted her hopes and confirmed her 
in all her detestation of the cold, selfish, and crafty politician, whom 
she now beheld for the first time. She saw, instantly, that she was the 
object of some subtle purpose ; and felt, that by putting herself in his 
power, she had but prepared for her husband a deeper distress than all 
the severities of the law could inflict. But she quailed not at the 
thought. Her proud and bold spirit came in aid of her weakness; her 
pale cheek burnt with an indignant glow, and the tears were dissipated 
from her eyes in the bright and almost fierce glance that flashed from 
them. Even through her veil too much of this appeared to escape the 
notice of the President. 

He instantly turned away; and, with an air and tone of the most can- 
died courtesy, addressed Mr. Trevor:" "You speak in riddles, my dear 
sir," said he ; "I beg you to explain." 

" My task is more, painful than I had anticipated," said the poor old 
man. " Have I, then, to be the herald of my poor Owen's death, and 
of the yet more disastrous fate of my other noble boy ?" 

"Col. Trevor dead, sir!" exclaimed the President. "Impossible! 
I have just received a letter from'him, written on the 12th." 

" That day was the last of his life," said the afflicted father. " He 


fell next morning. I received the news yesterday by the railroad ; and 
by travelling all night by the same conveyance, I am here to entreat 
that the axe may not glean what the sword has left me. My poor 
boy Douglas, I am told, is in your power, and perhaps here." 

" I had heard of this ; but I assure you your son is not here. I will 
not deny that I expect him; ajid regret that it is under circumstances 
which will not allow me the pleasure of extending to him the same 
courtesy I shall be happy to render to /you. Compose yourself, niy 
dear sir; let me beg you and your niece to retire to rooms which are 
always ready to receive you where. I am master; and let me. send for 
your baggage." 

Delia, who thought there was something of hesitaney in her uncle's 
mind, instantly exclaimed: "No, my uncle! No, my father! The 
palace of a tyrant is a prison. There is no mercy here. No hope for 
my noble husband. Save yourself. Return home while you may, and 
leave me here to share his fate. Our friends may rescue us. They 
will avenge us. But in that cold eye there is no relenting." 

" You are harsh, lady," said the President; "I will not add, unjust. 
I will prpje that, by permitting your instant departure, without even 
enquiring where w lodge." 

He now bowecPthem out, and immediately summoning a servant, 
said: Take the number of that coach, and let the driver attend me 
this evening." Then, as the servant left the room, he went on : "Why, 
this is better and better. I think I have holds enough now on Baker 
to bind him to his task, however his heart may yearn after his beggarly 
estate in Virginia. It seems, forsooth, that after all that has passed, 
his son yet has a hankering after 'this girl; the only woman, as he. says, 
that he ever truly loved. It may be but spite against his favored 
rival ; or it may be, in truth, that every thing that bears the shape of 
man is susceptible of love, or what passes for it. Be it so. He may 
be gratified ; but his father shall fulfil conditions." 

In the evening of the same day the following. letter was put into the 
hands of the President : 

"Your captive has arrived. Beware, how you remand him to his 
prison, when you dismiss him to-night. Order him to be confined 
within the palace ; and when you give the order mark well its effect 
on him you most trust. Caution. 

"Why, here is proof as well as accusation," said the President. 
" Here is treason. How else is it known that Trevor was to be broughj, 
here to-night ? I will improve this hint. A rescue is to be attempted ! 
Is that it ? Then the guard will be attaeked on their return without 
the prisoner. Wo to the traitor if it prove so !" 



















I have been interrupted in my narrative. I have hesitated whether 
to give this fragment to the public, until I have leisure to complete my 
history. On farther reflection, I have determined to do so. Let it go 
forth as the first Bulletin of that gallant contest, in which Virginia 
achieved her independence; lifted the soiled banner of her sover- 
eignty from the dust, and once more vindicated her proud motto, which 
graces my title page,— sic semper tyrannis! Amen. So mote it 






WEST & JOHNSTON, Publishers. 


Two Thousand Copies Disposed of During the First Week of its 


It is a Southern Book by a Southern author! 
It is called for by old and young, male and female ! 
Its authenticity cannot be doubted, and should be read by all. 
PRICE— TWO DOLLARS. By Mail, $2 50. 

From the Richmond Dispatch : 
' "Mr. Pollard is already well known to the public as the author of 'Black 
Diamonds,' etc. The present work is written in the peculiarly animated and 
racy style of the author,. and will command an extensive sale. Mr. P. has 
enjoyed unusual facilities for collecting information, and has made the best 
use of it. The book is written with candor and impartiality, and as far as we 
can judge, strictly truthful and very interesting." 

The Richmond Examiner says : 

"It is the most elaborate and valuable literary contribution that has yet 
been made to the interests of the South ; that it will not only entice, but repay, 
the curiosity of all readers." 

From the Richmond Whig : 

" The well known ability and dili-genee of Mr. Pollard are. guarantees of 
the value and merit of his book. We anticipate much gratification from its 
perusal, which we will notice at length. Messrs. West & Johnston, the pub- 
lishers, deserve much credit for their enterprise." 

From the Richmond Christian Observer : 
"'"The History of the First Year of the War for Southern Independence,' 
prepared by so sprightly and vigorous a writer as Mr. Pollard, makes a 
vo'.ume that will be read, with eager interest by tens of thousands. It gives 
an' intelligent, connected sketch of the past eventful year, prefaced bya clear 
account of soma of the causes of the war. * * The book is an instructive, 
entertaining and reliable account of the great events of the Revolution of '61, 
and should be very largely read." 



Containing all the Counties, principal Towns, Railroads, Telegraph Lines, 
Rivers, Canals, and all other internal improvements. This is the best Map_ 
of the State ever published. We have spared no expense to make ^t pe.r- ' 
. feet. It is gotten up on beautiful map paper, made expressly for us to print 
this map upon. Size, 26 by 36 inches, bound in pocket form, in beautifully 
illuminated covers. Price $2 50. Sent to any part of the Confederacy 
upon the receipt of the price. 

WEST & JOHNSTON, Publishers and Booksellers, 

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Price $1 00. By Mail $1 25. 

Of this racy, eloquent and beautifully written work, we have now ready 
an edition of TEN THOUSAND ; a work which we do not hesitate to pro- 
nounce charming as a poem, and possessing the interest of fiction, while its 
logic and facts are irrefutable. 

It is the first original book of a miscellaneous character published in the 

Confederate States since the organization of our independent Government, 

" and it is no less gracefully than appropriately dedicated to our first President." 

For such a publication, in exposition of the crisis and of Southern political 
philosophy, it would be supererogation to bespeak public favor, especially as 
its contents will warrant general patronage and approbation. 

The following are commendations by gentlemen who read portions of the 

From the Richmond Whig. 

" It discusses, with rare ability and learning, the institution of slavery in all 
its aspects, as well as the social and political distinctions between the people 
of the Confederate States and those of the U. S. The style is ornate, glowing, 
and eloquent. We predict that it will produce a sensation ; take its pjace 
among standard literature ; and have the .effect of banishing from our midst 
the hurtful offspring of the morbid and prolific press of the North." 

From the Dispatch. 
"We have read portions of the MSS., and we pronounce it beautiful, excel- 
lent, and conclusive. We hope that it will obtain the circulation that it 
merits, not only in America, but in Europe." 

From the Examiner. 
"It is impossible for us to convey to the reader any correct idea of this 
splendid essay. To form a correct idea of so genial and complete a produc- 
tion, it must be perused; and its perusal will repay the reader, as much as 
one of Macauley's papers, for the Edinburgh were wont to charm the English 
public. Its style is lofty ; its logic iirefutable; its illustrations pure and ele- 
gant, and its treatment of the theme complete from Alpha to Omega. It will 
be one of the first — if not really the first — publication of a miscellaneous 
character issued in our new Confederacy. The publishers will bring it out in 
excellent style, and we bespeak for it a warm reception, such as should 
encourage every enterprise calculated to add to the lustre of the South." 

We might continue similar extracts from the Charleston Mercury and other 
journals, if space permitted. The work is now ready for delivery; one 
« octavo volume, pica type, thick paper cover. 

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Letters on the Policy and Inauguration of the Lincoln War, written anony- 
mously in Washington and elsewhere, by EDWARD A. POLLARD, of Vir- 
ginia, author of "Black Diamonds," "First Year of the War," &c, &c. 
1. Letter to President Lincoln, written at Washington. 



President Lincoln, 





President Lincoln, 





President Lincoln, 


near the Government: 



Editor of , 


in Maryland. 



Secretary Seward, 





President Lincoln, 





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in Richmond. 

Price — 50 cents. 

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PRESCIENCE. -A Speech delivered by Hon. Beverly Tucker, of Vir- 
ginia, in the Southern Convention, held at Nashville, Tenn., April 
13th, 1860, 

A NEW AND CORRECT MAP OF VIRGINIA, put up in pocket form, 2 50 

and general information on the Art and Science of War, for the 
leisure moments of the Soldier. By John P. Curry. - 
Part 1. — Field Fortifications and Entrenched Positions — Attack and 

Part 2— Artillery and Artillery Practice — Munitions of War and 

Explosive Substances. 
Part 3.— Hints on Surgery— Antidotes for Poisons, &c. 
Part 4. — Cavalry and Cavalry Movements. 
Part 5. — Order of encampment for Artillery, Cavalry and Infantry, 

and general details of camp duty, cooking, &c. 
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Company and Regiment. 7-> 

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A Manual of Military Surgery, for the use of Surgeons in the 
Confederate States Army ; with an Appendix of the Rules 
and Regulations of the Medical Department of the Con- 
federate States Army. By J. Julian Chisolm, M.D., Pro- 
fessor of Surgery in the Medical College of South Carolina, 
Surgeon in the C. S. Army. Second Edition, revised and 

Price S3 00. By Mail, $3 50. 

" We are indebted to the publishers, Messrs. West & Johnston, for a copy of 
the above valuable work, the appearance of which, in a new and improved 
edition, we hail with peculiar pleasure, as it affords gratifying evidence that 
the author's labors have received their merited appreciation. The 'first edition 
of Dr. Chisolm's Manual^ filled a void in our medical literature, which, though 
unfelt in the 'piping times of peace,' became urgently manifest at the out- 
break of hostilities. Many excellent Physicians, who sought and obtained 
positions in the Medical Staff of the army, felt the need of some convenient 
and comprehensive work, which- should instruct them in the peculiar duties 
of the Army Surgeon, and serve them as a companion and guide in the most 
important emergencies of military practice. Dr Chisolm's book met the 
necessities of the case in a very satisfactory manner, as is fully attested by the 
rapid exhaustion of the first edition. We take it for granted' that those 
Medical officers who have not already supplied themselves with it, will not 
lose the present opportunity of making it their vade mecum. 

" Probably the most, valuable portion of the work is contained in the first 
four chapters, which relate to the hygieina of troops on the march and in 
camp — the organization and management of hospitals — the duties of the 
Surgeon in camp and on the field of battle, &c. In the remaining chapters, 
will be found a" very full and excellent account of the treatrnent of gun-shot 
and other wounds and injuries, and their various complications, constituting 
an admirable guide to the Military Surgeon in most of the emergencies which 
he may be called upon to encounter. The regulations of the Medical Depart- 
ment of the army, contained in the appendix, are of course a sine qua non to 
every medical officer. 

"Messrs. West & Johnston, the enterprising publishers of this city and 
Southern Confederacy, deserve much credit for, their enterprising spirit and 
liberality in publishing so many very valuable books ; and all of which are 
published in the very best style — equal to the New York, Philadelphia, or 
Boston Publishing Houses." 

The above notice is from the able pen of Professor Joynes, of the Virginia 
Medical College. 

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■ : 





GILHAM'S MANUAL, for Volunteers and Militia of the Confederate 

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A NEW MAP OF VIRGINIA, containing all the Counties, principal 
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Interna! Improvements. This is the best Map of the State ever 
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